


Too Old To Be So Young

by KaseyBeth



Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Bullet wound, Dead People, Detoxing, Drugs, Fever, Five and Klaus are precious cinnamon rolls who need to be protected at all costs, Five sickfic, I love this show and the comics, Klaus sickfic, Nightmares, PTSD, Sex, Spoilers, The apocalyspe, Vomit, hurt/ comfort, netflix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-11-02 02:12:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17879150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaseyBeth/pseuds/KaseyBeth
Summary: Five winced loudly, pushing his head off the floor to see bright red smeared across his chest and stomach; crimson soaked into his shorts, running down his leg. His head fell back against the ground dizzyingly, and he groaned as someone touched the wound, biting his bottom lip as he tried to stay conscious. The end of life, of everything, was in three days; they didn’t have time for this, he didn’t have time for this. A bullet wound, a stupid bullet wound and all that stupid concern and worry, was just going to slow them down. There wasn’t time for mistakes, or hiccups, or rest and recovery. It was the end of the fucking world. Sickfic so be warned. Also set between episodes 6/7 and spoilers. Also, in here their mother is still dead.





	1. It's the End of the World As We Know It

**Author's Note:**

> The ending is kind of bleh, but I was on 25 pages and I was done. Lol. Hey guys, stay tuned because I will probably write another one for Five, and maybe one for Klaus within the next couple of weeks. My break is in mid-March, so I'm waiting for that :) Thanks for the reviews!!!!!

            Three days. He had three days to save the world. To save his family. Three days to figure out the mindfuck that was the end of the world. And now, he had a time traveling device. He could go back and fix it, do it right, as many times as it took. His travel wasn’t a science, it wasn’t always accurate, but the stupid little black briefcase sitting on the counter, was.

            He glanced down at the cup of coffee he’d stolen from Allison grasped in his hand, swallowing thickly. His body felt hot, his limbs heavy and weak, and his head was beginning to throb, but that, was time travel. That was the past few days, eating away at the stupid immune system of his 13-year-old body, all wrapped in his determination to fix whatever caused the damn apocalypse.

            He downed the last sips of the sweetened coffee noisily, grimacing at the taste, wishing it was black coffee like he was used to. He let out a slow breath as Diego asked who the hell Harold Jenkins was, and Five turned, breathing shakily as his head spun. He felt his legs beginning to shake, his stomach twisting and dizziness washing through his exhausted body. Fuck his 13-year-old body. Fuck time travel.

            He coughed slightly, his siblings’ eyes fixated on him, and Five threw the empty cup behind him knowing if Pogo saw him, he’d get lectured. But he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. It was all just so damn irrelevant. Five shrugged his shoulders, swallowing again as the light behind Diego brightened, filling his vision harshly. The teenager shook his head slowly, “I don’t know. But I do know he’s responsible for the apocalypse…”

            He trailed off, pausing as he thought he heard a noise upstairs and stumbled back slightly. He caught himself against the couch, looking up as sweat trailed down his temple slowly to see his siblings staring at him, questions, curiosity, fuck maybe even concern, etched into their faces. They had a right to be concerned. They had the right to be frightened. Hell, they should be frightened. Because if this didn’t work, if Five couldn’t help stop what was about to happen, then it was the end of the world.  

            “Hey, Five, you alright?” Luther asked, reaching a hand out as the 13-year-old caught it, his grasp tight around his brother’s giant wrist, “It doesn’t matter. Like I said, if y’all don’t get your sideshow selves together, then we’re screwed.”

            “Hey, man, I mean, maybe you should sit down or something. You look kinda…” Klaus trailed off, his hand circling his own features slowly before grimacing and clearing his throat. Five dropped Luther’s hand, pressing his lips together firmly. The world was about to end in three days, and they were concerned about how he looked? Pathetic.

            He took a step back, biting his bottom lip as he turned away from them, glancing up towards the second floor as another noise hit his ears. He swallowed against the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, wincing again as he put weight on his left ankle; the damned thing was probably broken from the fall through time. Despite the briefcase being more accurate than his own jumps, he had landed less than gracefully. Not to mention his right side was killing him.

            “How is he connected to what’s about to happen?” Luther asked. Five shook his head, clenching his fists, feeling his power surging through his body, “I don’t know…”

            Power surged through his chest, ruminating through his fists as the idea of going upstairs, of inspecting the clicking coming from the hall, crossed his mind. He felt his body jump, his legs wobbling as he crashed against the table at the other end of the room, and Five groaned as he pressed himself against the solid wood to keep himself from falling. His eyes glanced up towards the second level again as he tried jumping, tried traveling. His body shook, his fists clenching again, and he grit his teeth as ringing echoed loudly in his ears. His side burning.  

            His body collided against the railing on the stairs. And he slumped slightly, out of breath. _Fuck! FUCK… We both know you have a limit._ He couldn’t jump, something was wrong, and he couldn’t jump. His legs shook harshly, and he heard his siblings asking him questions as his own mind reeled. The world ended in three days, and if he couldn’t jump, couldn’t get his own shit together, then they were all fucked. They were all dead.

            The stairs beneath his feet spun, sliding slightly into something his shoes couldn’t grasp and he felt himself falling. His body collided against the wooden floor, hard. The breath occupying his lungs, gone, and he groaned loudly, as he tried to piece together how the hell he fell from the second step.

            Strong arms grasped his shoulders, forcing him up, and Five pushed the person away, glaring at Luther as a hurt expression crossed his brother’s face briefly. Klaus inched closer, an amused worried look masking his sweaty face, Diego and Allison a few feet behind him. Diego took a step closer, “Five, what the hell was that!”

            Five swallowed, “It doesn’t matter.”

            “You sure? Because it looked like you took a tumble down two steps,” Klaus said, laughing slightly, looking towards his other siblings, “Am I still high, or did you all see that too?”

            Allison nodded, and Luther took another step forward. Five growled, stepping back, shoving Luther’s hand again, and shoved passed Diego, “Like I said, it doesn’t matter. We need to find Harold Jenkins before the end of the fucking world.”

            The teenager let out a slow breath as he ran a tired hand through his black hair. He pressed a firm hand against the wooden table, running his fingers over the shiny coat, his thumb tracing over the memories etched into the old wood. _I want to time travel…_

            Five going into the past… it had been a curse, and a blessing. A curse because he had been alone. For over 40 years. Yeah, he had Dolores, and for her, he was thankful… but he had no family, no siblings, nothing, for years. He had seen them dead. But he hadn’t been able to tell them, to say he was sorry, to say goodbye. It had been a curse for 45 years. But now… now it was a blessing because he had a chance to stop it. He had a chance to save them. He knew when the apocalypse would happen… and this time, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. His siblings just needed to get their shit together and get on board. Because he couldn’t do this alone.

            “Five?”

            There was a thick layer of dust on the tabletop, and Five’s eyebrows drew tighter in confusion before he remembered their mother had died. They hadn’t sat at this table for a long while, and there wasn’t a housekeeper anymore. The teenager swallowed as he glanced up towards the open bar, smirking slightly as he headed towards it, hearing Allison call him again.

            He reached for a scotch glass, pouring himself a drink before turning around and facing his siblings. He took a slow sip as Klaus pushed the briefcase aside slowly, and climbed on top of the bar, grabbing a bottle from the cabinet. The teenager cleared his throat. They all looked so young, all his siblings… hell, they weren’t kids anymore, they weren’t how Five remembered them, but they were still so young. So much younger than him. And yet, by some twisted asinine cruelty and miscalculation, he had ended up stuck in his pubescent body. What kind of sick joke was that?

            The teenager glanced down at his fingers shaking against the crystal glass as he swallowed again. The old man had caught Klaus drinking once and forced him to drink until he puked… a cruel and yet entertaining punishment, disguised as what Five had always assumed to be, an experiment. The bastard liked to do that sort of stuff… to see how much they could take. A smirk crossed his face as memories pushed to the surface. Honestly, that was probably the reason his brother had such a high tolerance for whatever poison he put into his body on an hourly basis.

            “Five?”

            The teenager jerked his head up, swallowing again as glanced towards the black briefcase. With the Briefcase Room blown up, at least the Commission would have a harder time tracking him down… or at least it would slow them down. Cha-Cha and Hazel were another matter, but they should be easy enough to handle if he could get to them first. Five took another sip from the scotch in his glass, letting his taste buds drown in the bitter alcohol. Over the years, he’d acquired a taste for it, but black coffee was still his drink of choice. It was rare in the apocalypse.

            _…Steam rose from the ground, fire surrounding the nightmare around him in heated patches, and Five glanced around, pressing his sleeve to his mouth as he struggled to breathe through thick air. There was no one around, everyone, everything was gone…_

“Hey,” Someone whispered. The teenager jumped slightly as Klaus’s hand pressed against his shoulder. Five looked up, his vision wavering slightly as his mind flashed back to his brother lying against the brick, blood covering his temple, ash covering his black jacket, and that stupid tattoo… that stupid umbrella tattoo… 

The 13-year-old cleared his throat, setting the empty glass against the counter. His eyes met Klaus’s briefly before he his vision started blurring, and he winced, pressing a hand against his right side harshly. He glanced down slowly, surprised to find blood seeping passed his slender fingers, and he felt dizzy, sick. His legs started giving out and his breathing was coming out unevenly, and he turned slightly, trying to turn away, trying to piece together what do, why he was bleeding. He breathed softly, “Hey…”

            He didn’t remember falling. He didn’t remember his legs giving out completely, but he did remember hitting the ground, his head smacking once more against the wooden floor and the sound of glass crashing against the ground. He remembered confusion crossing his face as he tried to push himself from the floor only to find his limbs were failing him. So was his sight, his breathing… hell, everything.

            The light above him spun harshly, and he saw Allison and Diego’s face swimming in front of him, Klaus leaning over the counter, and he briefly heard Luther asking questions. Pain lit up his side as fingers slipped under his sweater vest, pulling the knitted material from his side; blood pooling from the bullet deep under his skin, staining the stupid clothes, the floor, the world.  

            Five winced loudly, pushing his head off the floor to see bright red smeared across his chest and stomach; crimson soaked into his shorts, running down his leg. His head fell back against the ground dizzyingly, and he groaned as someone touched the wound, biting his bottom lip as he tried to stay conscious. The end of life, of everything, was in three days; they didn’t have time for this, he didn’t have time for this. A bullet wound, a stupid bullet wound and all that stupid concern and worry, was just going to slow them down. There wasn’t time for mistakes, or hiccups, or rest and recovery. It was the end of the fucking world.

            “Jesus, Five! Why didn’t you say anything?” Diego asked, and the teenager closed his eyes, swallowing against the nausea coursing through his stomach, mixing with the pain enveloping his side. He felt hot, wrong, sick… weak. He felt weak. Which was pathetic given he was stuck in such a feeble young body. And if he didn’t stop this, then they were all going to die. He swallowed, feeling someone touch his cheek gently, “We-we have to keep going… so close…”

           “Five?”

            The teenager felt someone shake his chest as his body went limp. The world around him started to fade, questions being thrown around harshly, dull pain eating away at his organs, and strong hands pulling him up. He cracked his eyes open slightly as the world around him slipped away, replaced by the burning flesh and dementated air of the ever-loving apocalypse. And despite being alone, he was floating. Someone was carrying him… Dolores? Yeah, it had to be Dolores. Because she was the only one left in this hellish nightmare. She was his only bright light.

            His eyes flicked to the portrait of their father; the oily painting’s eyes cast on him in disapproving shadows. For 45 years. His gaze was there for 45 years. A constant reminder; a curse; the bastard. And yet, with everything he’d done, Five had probably turned out more like him than the rest. He wasn’t cruel by any means… but he wasn’t the same kid that ran away from his father’s objections. The teenager let out a soft, “No.”

           Hands moved to touch him, and confusion clouded his mind before the rest of the world faded around him. Before the rest of the apocalypse faded into the background.    

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

            The stress was eating away at his body. And if, by some fucked up miracle, he made it out of this alive, still stuck in his childish body like some cosmical joke, Five feared he’d have grey hair by the time he reached his late teens. At least Dolores would still love him. After all, they were together for over 40 years. She had seen him at his worst, his lowest, and yet, considering the world hadn’t ended yet, she didn’t know him.

            The teenager groaned loudly, coughing as he forced his eyes open to the bright light surrounding him. A cool breeze ran through his hair, and Five groaned again, blinking several times as his eyes met the blue sky hanging above him, clouded in dust. He sucked in a harsh breath, forcing his arms up quickly, his body protesting the movement. _No. No. No! NO!_

            He was back in the apocalypse; the deserted, dusty atmosphere surrounding him in horrific runes; the brick building crushing a bloody hand a few feet away from him, and Five swallowed. He pushed himself from the ground, swaying slightly as his body threatened him down, his arms folding over his stomach protectively as he spun around slowly. Smoke still rose from the ground, the smell of death filling his nostrils, and the teenager felt tears well in his eyes as his knees threatened to buckle.

           He glanced towards Luther’s hand sticking out of the rubble, his fingers stiff and lifeless. He was gone, they were all gone, and by some fucked up déjà vu, Five was alone, again. His stomach tightened, and he choked, trying to remember how the hell he had ended up here, ended up in the apocalypse yet again. Had the Commission done something? Had they found him so quickly?

           Wind rushed past him, howling through his ears, dust piercing his eyes and the teenager stumbled, tripping over some bricks. His knees smashed against the ground forcefully, his hands mashing against dirt, his muddy nails digging into the warm ground, bloody cuts covering his hands, and he glanced up as someone yelled his name.

           Dolores’s body laid a few feet in front of him, her body broken more than it had been before, her face distorted and misshaped. Her arm was gone, blood covered her pale face, and her neck was broken. Someone yelled his name again and Five felt tears stream down his face in hot dizzying waves as he clenched his hands, closing his eyes, trying to jump, trying to go back, to get the hell away from here, to save her, to save them. But it was no use. He couldn’t jump. He couldn’t time travel. He was weak, tired and old, and he had reached his limit. He couldn’t save them. Like last time. Or the time before.   

           Dust smacked against his face and the teenager winced, opening his eyes again as he let out a soft cry, the ruins of his childhood surrounding him in a hellish reminder. He was stuck here. Alone. For 45 years. Forever. Again.

           He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to go back. To be back with his bastard of a father, his siblings, to grow up with them… he wanted Dolores back. He pressed his head against the ground, crying loudly as wind whipped around him, tearing at his clothes, his hair, embedding reminders against his sweaty skin.

           He was shaking, his body was weak, done; an old mind stuck in a young vessel. And he couldn’t do this again. He wouldn’t. The 13-year-old forced his head up, glaring up at the sun, cursing a non-existent God, and forced his body up on legs that refused to stand. His body was hot, overheated, exhausted, and yet, he had to do something, he had to save them.

           He clenched his fists again, tears still welling in his eyes as he glanced at the bloodied faces of his family; Diego, Klaus, Allison, Luther. Number two, number four, number three, number one. His siblings. And the destroyed face of his love, Dolores. Oh, how he loved her. She had been there through everything, and now, she was gone too.

           Black soot covered his face, raining from the sky above him, and Five glanced up. The sky was blurry, fuzzy, dizzy, and he felt sick, wrong, broken, abandoned. Abandoned by his own stupidity. He never did learn, did he. If his father could see him now…

           “Five.”

          The teenager turned, smoke and dirt rushing past his face in a windy isolation. He squinted, trying to listen, to see someone, anyone, to see the person calling him. No one. There was never anyone. He was just old and senile, hell maybe even a little crazy. But being alone for as long as he was, did that to a person.

          Tears dripped down his cheeks as he turned back towards the house, his foot catching on something and he stumbled back as his eyes connected with the now intact walls, paintings, and living room of where he was standing. Confusion crossed his face as his eyes searched over the room, finding everything exactly as he remembered, no apocalypse in sight. Nothing was gone… and yet…

         “Five?”

         The 13-year-old jumped, his breathing hitching as he pushed away from the wall. Diego inched closer, worry eating away at his features, and Five swallowed. What the hell was happening? Had he jumped? The teenager backed further away, tripping over something lying on the floor and he fell backwards, slumping against the leg of the table as Diego knelt slowly down in front of him, alarm shining in the corner of his tired eyes.  

         “You’re crying,” Diego whispered softly as he reached out to touch the teenager’s face. Five smacked his hand away, wiping harshly at the wet marks still trailing down his cheeks, the tears still welled in his eyes, and he swallowed again as he tried to keep his breathing even. This was pathetic; he was stronger than this, stronger than all of them combined… and yet, he looked the weakest.  

          He glanced down at his side, realizing it felt weird, tender, raw, and to his surprise, white bandages were wrapped around the pale flesh. He closed his eyes briefly as memories hit him. He’d gotten shot. Shit, the apocalypse was in a few days.   

          Five cleared his throat, “What happened?”

          Diego exhaled, running his good hand through his hair, “Well, you forgot to mention you were shot like an idiot. Then you almost bled out on the floor; Klaus stitched you up, took the bullet out. Something I didn’t know he knew how to do… since then, you’ve been unconscious for several hours.”

 _Several hours?_ Five grit his teeth. They had lost several fucking hours because his stupid body couldn’t handle a stupid piece of metal. The teenager gripped the edge of the table, forcing his body up, fighting against the pain swallowing his side as he let out a harsh breath, “We have to keep going.”

           The teenager took a tentative step before his legs betrayed him, and he fell against his brother. He swallowed again as Diego snaked an arm around his torso gently, pulling him up further, leading him towards the couch. The 13-year-old clenched his fists, trying to jump, trying to find any type of strength his body could muster to get away from his brother. He wasn’t weak, he wasn’t a child… and he didn’t need to be treated like one, especially now, especially with the apocalypse so near. He needed to get information, to find Cha-Cha and Hazel, to kill Harold Jenkins, to save the world… even if it killed him.

           He collapsed against the couch, sweat trailing down his face as he realized that trying to jump, to travel in his condition, in this body, was useless. He eyed the briefcase a few feet away, sitting peacefully on an end table. Maybe he could go back, he could travel further… maybe he could stop himself from getting shot.

           A hand pressed against his cheek, then forehead and Five’s eyes darted back towards his brother before smacking his hand away. Diego was a pest. Five wasn’t important right now… stopping the apocalypse was. Why didn’t anyone get that? Why wasn’t anyone helping him?

           “You have a fever,” Diego said, his lips forming a disapproving line like it had been the teenager’s decision to get shot. Five shook his head, swallowing weakly, “It’s irrelevant.”

           “So, you really are just as stupid as you used to be,” Diego said, leaning away from the couch, sitting down on the coffee table slowly. Five snorted, rolling his eyes as he glanced once more at the black briefcase. If he could only jump, if he could only reach it. He groaned slightly as he leaned forward, turning back to face his brother, his jaw set.

           “The apocalypse is in three days. That’s three fucking days to save the world. I don’t matter; we don’t matter if we can’t figure out how to stop it. Why don’t any of you idiots get that?” Five growled, leaning as far in as he could, his hand pressed tightly against his side as his vision swam slightly.

            Diego shrugged, “Maybe because you’re our brother. Or maybe because you said it yourself, the only chance we have to save our world is us. Last time I checked, you can’t do that if you’re dead…”

            “Yeah, well,” The teenager started, trying to stand as Diego reached out a hand, pushing him back down, “If we don’t do something, we all die.”

            “Allison is getting information on Harold Jenkins from one of my contacts. I’m going to meet her in a few minutes… or I was, until you decided to start freaking out. Despite what you think, Five, life did go on without you. We’re capable of making our own decisions, kid,” Diego said, giving the teenager a stern look as he pushed him back down again. Five slumped against the couch, clenching his jaw once more, “I’m not a kid. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that. Last time I checked, I’m older than all of you by at least 28 years.”

            “Yeah,” Diego sighed, standing, stretching his good shoulder, “Well, I don’t look like a 13-year-old version of myself.”

            Five huffed harshly, shaking his head. He let his head fall back against the couch. This was un-fucking-believable. The end of the world was before the end of the week, and yet he had to go and get shot like some dumbass kid. Fuck, he was stuck in this stupid body, and he couldn’t even jump. Could the world get any more ridiculous? Probably not considering it was ending in three days, but who knows.

            He turned as Diego smacked Luther in the chest as he made his way towards the door, and mumbled, “Watch him.”

           The teenager rolled his eyes as he groaned, flopping his head back against the cushion once more. His eyes watched as Luther made his way over towards the couch, sighing heavily as he sat down. He turned his head slightly, letting his sweaty cheek stick against the leather couch as his eyes met his brother’s concerned ones.

           Luther reached out a hand, his fingers brushing against Five’s cheek before the 13-year-old pushed them away. He was so sick of all this lovey-dovey bullshit, of the concern, worry; it was all pathetic. None of them saw what he was trying to do, the reason he’d come back, to save them… he didn’t need to be treated with care because he was stronger than all of them. He’d done things that would send them running, things they couldn’t even fathom, killed hundreds of people; he didn’t need any one to watch him, to care for him. He only needed to save the fucking world, and Dolores. He needed to pay his debt.

           His eyes drifted to the second level, towards the direction of his room, and he wondered briefly if she was worried sick about him, if she had noticed his absence. He would have brought her with him, but he knew the exchange would have been dangerous, and he didn’t know what he’d do if she was shot… or worse, died. He sighed softly, wondering what she was going to say when she saw him, covering in dried blood, bandages and sweat. He’d probably be up all night trying to reassure her that he was fine.

          “Five?”

           The teenager’s eyes lazily met Luther’s once more as his brother glanced towards the hall upstairs then back towards Five, confusion clouding his face. Luther shifted, the couch groaning loudly as it struggled to stay together despite his giant brother’s movements before crossing his arms over his chest. Five stayed put, his sweaty back pressed against the couch, his cheek sticking almost uncomfortably on the stupid expensive leather. If his father were here, he’d scold Five for getting shot, for getting sweat on the couch, and his mother would whisk him away, cleaning up yet another one of his messes. She was good at that, even for a robot.

           “Five? Why didn’t you tell us you were hurt? I mean, where did you go? Who did this to you?” Luther asked softly. Five swallowed, forcing his cheek from the couch, wincing slightly as the leather stuck to his face. He sighed, running a shaky hand through his sweaty hair as he glanced towards the paintings of his family throughout the years plastered on the opposite wall. He shook his head slowly, “It doesn’t matter.”

           “If you tell me, maybe I can-” Luther started before Five cut him off, “There’s nothing you can do… nothing any of you can do.”

           Five felt the couch cushions shift and he peered over to see Luther scooting a little closer, “We’re trying to help.”

          The teenager snorted. If they were really trying to help, then Diego would have let Five leave, would have let him come with. Instead he was confined to this house, probably this stupid couch until he could either find the strength to sneak out or jump. The world was ending and there was nothing he could do to help from this stupid sticky sofa. Nothing he could do while he was confined in this body. Sure, he could easily outpower Luther, outsmart him, and maybe, if he was lucky, outrun him… but if he couldn’t jump, then he wouldn’t get far. The 13-year-old coughed slightly, “You wanna help? Find Harold Jenkins, figure out how he starts the damn apocalypse, and then kill him.”

           His brother was silent for a while and Five felt himself beginning to drift as he contemplated sleep. It had been days since he’d slept. And years since he’d had a good night’s rest. About 40 years. He’d been so concerned with trying to get back to his time, then paying his debt, and then when he finally managed to jump, he’d been so hellbent on stopping the end of the world, that sleep seemed like a disadvantage, a distraction.  

          “Kill him? Five, you don’t know anything about-”

          “Grow up, Luther,” The teenager spat, forcing his eyes open despite his body feeling heavy, “He starts the apocalypse; he’s responsible for the whole damn world.”

          Five swallowed, wincing as he pushed away from the couch weakly to look his brother in the eye, “We’re not kids anymore. There is no right or wrong, good or bad. Only people. And in three days, all those people will die because of one. So, either one of you kills him, or I will.”

          Silence evaded them and Five held his brother’s gaze, his jaw set as he tried to find a newfound strength. Luther shook his head slightly, looking down at his hands before getting up from the couch, the old material groaning loudly, the wooden pegs scooting across the floor slightly as his brother stood. Five pushed himself up; his knees wobbling slightly, and he straightened his body despite the headache threatening to swallow him. His fingers clasped gently against his side as he glanced up towards Luther’s face once more. Luther ran a hand over his head, “There has to be another way.”

          “You have any brilliant ideas, I’d sure love to hear them. Until then, figure out how he’s connected to the apocalypse, and then if I need to, I’ll kill him,” Five interjected, taking a step forward, his jaw locked tightly as Luther towered over him. They used to be the same height, but now, his twin brother was a skyscraper… it was off-putting.

          “He doesn’t deserve to die.”

          Five snorted slightly, feeling his stomach clenching as he looked down, shaking his head, “You still don’t get it. This isn’t about deserving or not. This is about the end of the fucking world. You think the entirety of the world deserved to die? If he’s responsible for the apocalypse, I will kill him.”

          Luther cleared his throat, “If he doesn’t deserve it, we’ll stop you, Five.”

          The teenager looked back up, his eyes locked onto Luther’s menacingly, “I’d like to see you try.”

          The 13-year-old turned, feeling dizziness wash over him as he felt his body collide with something hard and solid. For a long painstaking moment, he thought he’d fallen against his brother… which would have defeated his argument and made stopping him probably a lot easier but not impossible. He swallowed thickly as his stomach threatened rebellion and glanced up, blinking several times as he tried to clear the black dots eating away at his vision.

          He pressed against the ground and stood shakily, his vision returning to normal before he fully comprehended where he was. He was in his room. _Fuck._ He’d jumped. Figures he’d jump when he hadn’t meant too… and to a place he didn’t really want to be.

         The teenager stood, letting out loud breath, straightening his posture as his tired eyes met Dolores. He shook his head slowly as he made his way over to the bed, sitting across from her. She gave him a disapproving look and Five sighed again, “I’m okay. I swear. It’s just been a rough couple of days, not gunna lie. A small kink in our plan. I’ll be fine, Dolores, I promise.”

          She continued to stare and Five swallowed again, “I know. I know, you told me it was a bad idea to go, but I had to. I had to get a briefcase… it was important. And now I know how the Commission works… and I slowed them down. I also know who’s responsible for the apocalypse.”

          Five leaned against the wall, letting the exhaustion he had been trying to forget about, swallow his limbs and cloud his mind as Dolores continued to nag him, as she continued to fret. All-in-all, it was going to be a long night, and odds were, if they made it out of this alive, Dolores was never going to let him live this down. But then again, if he failed, if they all died… then it didn’t really matter.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

            When Five was 22, him and Dolores had stumbled across an entire box of Twinkies left behind on the shelf of a half-standing corner store. And after ignoring Dolores’s constant bickering that Twinkies were not only unhealthy but disgusting, and devouring about three of them, Five soon found that Twinkies did, in fact, have a shelf life. He didn’t really remember much from that experience except that it had been three days of misery, vomiting, dust-covered water, and apocalyptic dreams. All of that, though, was nothing compared to now.

            The teenager leaned against the tiled wall behind him, groaning loudly as his stomach threatened to rebel again, and the thought of foul-tasting Twinkies crossed his tired mind. He swallowed thickly, wincing as he tried moving, the small action sending pain shooting through his abdomen, and he glanced down weakly to find blood seeping passed the white bandages. _Fuck._

            He coughed slightly, smacking his head dizzyingly against the wall behind him, letting out a hot breath as he fought against the consciousness pulling him under. He felt weak. Weaker than he’d ever felt. He felt 13, which for him, was a low blow. Sweat trailed down his temple, sliding passed the pink tint of his cheeks, and puddled on the bottom of his chin before dripping against his chest and eventually soaking into the wraps. _You can’t keep this up, Five. We both know you have a limit._

            Yeah, he had a limit. But this wasn’t it. Their father liked to push his limits, like to force him further and further, his jumps stretching across the house, down the block, until he collapsed, exhaustion coursing through an overheated body. Sometimes the jumps were hard, sometimes they hurt, sometimes they made him sick until he found himself weak and puking in the bathroom. Vanya would sit with him, every time, and they would talk about life after the academy. They would discuss real things, things of importance. She understood him, she always did… or so he thought. But when he came back, she had changed… then again, he had too. They weren’t kids anymore, and despite being on his own for over 40 years, his siblings weren’t. They had their father… in some aspect Five had escaped him, but they hadn’t.

            The teenager groaned loudly, pushing a tired leg out in front of him as he tried his best to stretch. He needed to get up, to pull himself together, to figure out who Harold Jenkins was, and how he could stop the apocalypse. The Commission wanted to protect him for a reason, but Five? Five wanted to kill him… hell, he would, if he could find his bearings. If he could find the strength.

            The 13-year-old tried leaning forward, crying softly as his stomach clenched and the muscles in his abdomen screamed, blood oozing past his fingers clutched against his side, before his head smacked against the wall once more. _Fuck._ This was useless. He was useless, and given how he felt, he’d probably either bleed out all over the ugly tiled floor or drown in a pool of his own sweat or vomit.

            He sighed, closing his eyes as he swallowed against the nausea coursing through his stomach. Figures, he’d come back to save the world and the world would do anything to try to kill him. He figured Cha-Cha or Hazel would have at least had another shot at him before he bit the dust. But if he was gunna go, then he was gunna go. There wasn’t a point in trying to fight it or cry about it. At least his siblings weren’t completely stupid and would be able to figure out what to do with the stupid Briefcase. The only regret, he was alone. At least when his siblings died, they had each other… but he was going to die like he lived, lonely. Not even Dolores was here to argue with him. How unbelievably poetic.

            _…There was no one around, everyone, everything was gone. The air was thick and unbreathable, and the teenager choked as he glanced around. The people he’d seen, gone, those unfamiliar faces, blood dried around their bodies… but those tattoos. Those stupid umbrella tattoos, inked into their skin just like his, sent chills down the 13-year-old’s spine. Because in some retrospect, he knew. He knew who they were._

_He stumbled slightly, gulping some dust that invaded his mouth and he fell, his knees knocking against the hot pavement. Tears swelled in his eyes again and the teenager swallowed. There wasn’t any point for more tears; it’d been a week. A week he’d spent here, stuck in this stupid nightmare, alone. Crying wasn’t going to help him. And neither was his power._

_He’d tried jumping. He’d tried traveling back in time, for two straight days. But all he managed was an intense headache, and jumping distances, not time. The old man was right. He wasn’t ready. He hadn’t acorned. And now, he was stuck here._

_He swallowed thickly, his throat dry and coarse. He hadn’t had anything to drink in several days, not to mention eat. Odds were, he’d be dead by next week if he didn’t find something or figure out a way out of here, a way back. There had to be a way back._

_The 13-year-old glanced up, seeing the half-blown form of a mannequin slumped against a white pile of bricks. Her polka dot shirt covered in dirt, burned at the edges; her body forgotten and abandoned. Five smirked, pushing himself from the ground as he stood, swaying. Smoke covered his path momentarily and he waited until it cleared before making his way over to her and kneeling gently._

_He glanced around, hoping to see something or someone else, maybe someone who could help him get back. Maybe someone he could talk to. Hell, maybe even a friend. He cleared his throat as he looked back down at the soot covered woman, wiping some of the damage away with his sleeve gently. He cleared his dry throat, “Well. It’s the end of the fucking world, and it looks like me and you are the only survivors. How screwed up is that?”_

            Something soft touch his cheek and Five flinched, opening his eyes slowly as he realized he had drifted. He had been asleep… or maybe he had lost consciousness… either way, it would be nice to go back, to get away from here.

            The lights flickered, causing the tiled bathroom to darken by several shades, casting eerie shadows off the bathtub, sink, toilet, and Five groaned loudly. He swallowed, his hand still pressed against his side, sticky and wet with what was either blood, sweat or vomit… or maybe all three. All-in-all, he’d lost track of time, and he wasn’t really sure what was real anymore, he wasn’t sure what was going on. Not completely.

            Something touched his cheek again, and the 13-year-old blinked lazily, trying to clear what little of his vision he could as Klaus came into view. He smirked slightly, his brother’s purple scarf hanging loosely from his neck, shinning brightly against the dim bathroom light. It looked alien, foreign, shimmery, and if Five had any strength in his heavy arms, he would have reached out to touch it.

            Klaus’s eyes met his briefly; those big stupid green eyes suddenly serious and alert, and Five shivered as Klaus’s expression filled his vision. He’d never really seen that look on his brother. Normally the idiot was snorting, injecting, drinking or taking anything he could get his hands on, talking to air, or replaying some dumbass story that involved him revealing himself in some fucked up way. He was a joker, an idiot; so, the seriousness that masked his brother’s face right now, looked wrong.

            Slender fingers ran through his hair gently, and the teenager coughed slightly, moving his leg as he tried to sit up straighter, but the movement was futile. Everything he did was futile. Maybe he’d be better off if Cha-Cha and Hazel put another bullet through him; at least they would actually be thrilled to kill him. Hell, they’d probably get a raise or some shit. Not that they actually had a fair chance against him, well, like this they would.

            Five felt Klaus pry his fingers from his side, and he winced as pressure was released and warm liquid met cold air, sending shivers through his body as he tried to keep his eyes open. Nothing made sense. He should have gone back further, he should have grabbed the briefcase when he was with Luther; then maybe, maybe his siblings would have a better chance at survival. The whole world would. Odds were, they were all going to die.

            “Christ on a cracker, Five,” Klaus whispered. His brother’s voice barely hit his ears as he closed his eyes, his thoughts drifting back to Dolores, the apocalypse, the time travel, the Commission, his siblings, his father… simpler times. Easier times… maybe. But simpler, definitely. At least back then, his jumps were mostly accurate.

            Pain shot through his side, sending nauseating shivers through his stomach, chest and Five’s eyes shot open as he became painfully aware of his surroundings. He let out a strangled cry as he glanced down at Klaus’s hands, pressed firmly against the mostly open wound, the red bandages on his side, and he squirmed, trying to stop the stupid pain swallowing his body. Klaus reached a bloodied hand towards him, his fingers brushing Five’s cheek as he tried shushing his brother, tears welling in his own eyes as he knew that he was the one inflecting pain.

            Five glanced back down at the wound as Klaus pulled back the bloody wraps, biting his bottom lip as blood rushed past the stitches. The ones the teenager had reopened while trying to jump… several times. A stupid decision, honestly. But Five had been determined to leave, to sneak out, past Luther, Pogo, Klaus, hell anyone who occupied the academy. But jumping was harder when he was weak, when he was hurt… not impossible, but harder than he expected. Sure, he’d had over 40 years to perfect it, but he was stuck in a young body, and he’d forgotten what it was like to get shot.

            Five smacked his head against the wall behind him, wincing loudly as Klaus prodded the stupid wound again, pulling the rest of the soiled bandages from his body, and pressed down harder. The 13-year-old bit his bottom lip, glancing towards the hallway, wondering slightly if he had it in him to jump, to find someone else to help him… and how he was going to get Klaus back for this.

            His side burned and the teenager squirmed again, swallowing thickly as tears welled in his eyes. He clenched his fists as he tried to keep still, as he tried to focus on the stupid shushing coming from his brother. How pathetic his brother was to assume that some stupid whispered shush would compare to the ringing in his ears, the pain scorching his side. Klaus should have just let him bleed out… or at least Five should have gone back further, because there wasn’t time to deal with this.

            The teenager coughed loudly, his limbs growing heavy, suddenly he found himself tired, weak, gone. The adrenaline that had coursed through his veins momentarily, had vanished, and the exhaustion that threatened to bring him down fell heavily on him with dark blankets. Warmth enveloped him, eating away at his vision and forcing his body down as his slid against the cold tile wall he’d been leaning against. His cheek pressed against the ground, and he let out a slow breath as he heard Klaus yell his name, then darkness swallowed him.

            _…16 years in the apocalypse, hundreds of miles, and no one in sight. The last several years hadn’t been kind. Instead they had been cruel, misguiding and Five found that the hope he’d possessed when he was a boy, gone, vanishing with every passing day. If it hadn’t been for Dolores, he was sure he would have offed himself by now. Hell, he’d tried, but she had stopped him. And then ceremoniously argued about his drinking habits._

_Five removed his goggles, squinting slightly as dust beat against his face, mixing with the snow embedded in his clothes, the icy frost caught in his beard. He shivered. He glanced back towards Dolores, sitting comfortably in the wagon he’d found several hundred miles back, her head covered in a winter cap he’d found a few hours ago._

_The land ahead of them was covered in snow. The ground covered in white innocence, unaware of the crushed buildings, destroyed lives, and smoky destruction it was hiding. It was kind of beautiful… in a poetic sort of way. But it was also a reminded as it laid untouched, that he was alone…_

When Five opened his eyes, he was greeted by the same dim lights hanging in the bathroom. The lights swung slightly, shadows dancing on the dark tiled walls as it flashed across his face in a circular pattern. He swallowed, blinking several times, trying his best to clear his vision, letting his body bask in a few moments of painless relaxation before he moved his arms slowly, letting the cold wet floor mix with his warm palms before forcing his aching body to sit up.

            He leaned heavily against the wall, closing his eyes briefly as dizziness washed over him and he swallowed again, letting out a soft cough. Confusion crossed his face as he glanced down at his hands, finding them covered in wet, sticky blood. He looked down at the wraps in his abdomen to find fresh white bandages over his side, and from the sore, raw feeling eating away at his skin, new stitches he assumed. What the hell happened?

            The teenager made a move to stand when his foot slid across something wet and slippery, and Five glanced down at the floor to find most of it was covered in blood. The dark crimson standing out against the dark tiled floor in a messy, cold fashion, staining the crevices between the tiles, soaked into Five’s shorts, socks.

            The 13-year-old slid back down against the wall, his breathing hitching slightly as he glanced around. He swallowed loudly as he noticed Klaus, sitting in the doorway, looking down at the blood dried on his hands, his expression blank, his mind gone. Five groaned slightly as he leaned his head against the wall, sweat dripping down his temple as he locked his jaw, “You’re an idiot, Klaus.”

            His brother didn’t respond. He seemed lost in thought, memory, or something that Five couldn’t see. He continued to stare at the blood covering his hands, most of his arms; his expression shifted slightly, and tears started swelling in his eyes, falling past dark long lashes, the black eyeliner he’d been wearing several days ago running in black rivers down his sweaty face. And Five swallowed again.

            The teenager winced slightly as he pushed off the wall, and scooted closer towards his brother, trying to ignore the pain in his side. He coughed softly, “Klaus?”

            He reached a hand towards his brother, letting his fingers touch Klaus’s knee gently as his brother jumped, looking up, his expression hurt and broken, tears plastered against his cheeks as his eyes met Five. Klaus swallowed, wiping at the tears on his face and in his eyes as he cleared his throat, “Well, if it isn’t our little psycho back from the dead.”

            Five shook his head as he grabbed the door handle and pulled himself up. He stood slowly, his legs wobbly and his head spinning. He closed his eyes briefly as he glanced down at Klaus, “What the hell are you doing here?”

            Klaus laughed softly, pushing himself off the floor, wiping his hands against his pants, “Here? In the bathroom? Well, I came to take a-”

            Five took a slow step, falling against the door as the pain in his ankle flared up and he cursed loudly. Klaus caught him, pressing a hand against his shoulder and chest gently, and Five shoved him away harshly as he slid back down against the doorframe, letting out a few shaky breaths. He was so sick of this puny body. Of the concerned worry basically ruminating off his siblings. The only thing they should be concerned about was the end of the world.

            “Well, I know. Shut up,” Klaus whispered. Five glanced towards him, his eyebrows drawing together as he glanced towards the empty space his brother was addressing. He rolled his eyes; even with the end of the world, leave it to Klaus to still be, well, Klaus.

            The 13-year-old sighed, forcing himself to stand again, leaning against the doorframe before Klaus had a chance to reach for him. His brother frowned, his eyes fixated on the teenager, and Five shivered. He spent over 40 years with only Dolores; he didn’t like to be inspected, observed.  

            He pressed a hand against his side gently, letting out a silent breath as Klaus continued to whisper to himself. It sounded like an argument. Five turned towards him, pausing briefly to watch Klaus gesture towards him then back towards the empty space. He coughed again, running a warm hand over his tired face, “Where are the others?”

            Klaus paused, turning back towards Five, “Diego and Allison are out; Luther is getting drunk off his ass, and we’re hunting for some rope.”

            “What?” Five asked, stepping away from the doorframe, turning to face Klaus fully. Confusion crossed his face as Klaus took a step back, “Yeah, I need someone to tie me up so I can get clean. And I thought, oh you know, Five’s here. But when we came upstairs, you were half-conscious on the bathroom floor. What were you even doing anyway?”

            Five shook his head. He let out an aggravated sigh as he walked into the hallway and shoved his door open with his hand. He frowned toward Dolores as she instantly started fretting, and turned back towards Klaus, “It doesn’t matter. It didn’t work anyway.”

            “What didn’t work?” Klaus questioned, taking a few steps towards the door, his eyes observing Five intently. The teenager shook his head again, turning towards Dolores briefly to tell her he was fine, before turning back towards his brother.

            “It doesn’t matter, Klaus,” He said, “Go away.”

            The 13-year-old slammed the door shut, listening to his brother lean against the old wood. The door cracked slightly and Five sat on his bed slowly, wondering if his brother was going to come crashing through the stupid thin piece of wood any moment. He coughed roughly, falling back against the pillow, staring up at the speckled ceiling, his hand reaching towards Dolores outstretched one.

            The apocalypse was in three days… well, maybe two and a half, and Five was having a harder time jumping. And despite wanting nothing more than to escape this house, his bedroom, his childish body, if he didn’t get some rest, if he didn’t get some sleep, then he wouldn’t heal. He would take longer to heal… and he need to heal fast, he needed to be able to jump. He needed to be ready when it mattered. Three days. Three fucking days to save the end of the world. Again.

            Klaus knocked several times before asking, “You’re still going to tie me up though, right? Five?”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

            The sheets enveloping his body felt hot and heavy plastered roughly against sweaty flesh. Five groaned loudly as he moved, trying to find a more comfortable position, trying to figure out how in the hell he slept on these 45 years ago. Because the fabric was itchy, scratchy, a heated weight against his skin, sitting on top of him in sick layers.

            He felt sick. Hot. Wrong. Worse. His stomach was twisting, churning, lurching, and he swallowed loudly as he pried his eyes open slowly to the white ceiling above him. Sweat trailed down his face, plastering his black hair against his forehead and he turned slightly to find Dolores sitting near his bed, a worried expression on her face. He smirked slightly, “I’m fine.”

            She always fret. More so when he was sick or hurt, like that time with the Twinkies. After, she’d argue with him about how stupid he was, about how she told him to listen to her, how she was right. Turns out, she was right more than Five was willing to admit, like when she told him the calculations for his time travel were off. He should have listened to her… maybe then, he wouldn’t be stuck in this body.

            The 13-year-old swallowed again, kicking weakly at the blanket laying over him, his side warning him that if he moved too much, he’d regret it. He turned over, his back resting against the old mattress and he ran a sweaty hand over his face and glanced towards the door briefly. It was half-opened. Which means someone had come into his room. Someone had been here.

            The teenager wondered momentarily if they were still in the hallway, and he wondered if he called for someone, they’d be able to hear him. He blinked slowly, grimacing as his stomach churned again and he let out a slow breath. He didn’t need anyone… he never did. But…

            Part of him wished he’d listened to the old man. For years. Another part wished this were a dream. The world would end, a big flash or some destructive shit would kill him, and he’d wake up in his bed when he was 13; actually 13. But that’s not how the world works. What a cruel mistress she was.

            He groaned again, closing his eyes briefly as the ceiling above him began to spin violently. The stupid wallpaper of his childhood bedroom swimming in a multitude of colors and designs, making him more nauseous than he already was. He shifted, sighing softly as the cold breeze from the fan above him cooled the sweat sitting against his skin, and Five opened his eyes, turning over again.

            The 13-year-old dropped to his knees as he glanced around, his heart heavy, his body dizzy and tears threatening his eyes. The room he’d been in, the bed he’d been in just seconds ago, was gone. Instead everything, including the stupid wardrobe Klaus had punched a hole in the other day, was gone. The room was gone. The academy was gone… everything was gone.

             The fucking apocalypse was laying out in front of his eyes. Smoke rising from the ground, fires still burning around him, and black ash fell from the sky in a haunting reminder. He couldn’t escape the fucking apocalypse. The end of the world.

            Wind rushed past him harshly, papers, abandoned and forgotten, blowing around the bricks and stones, the remains of his house, of the academy sitting in a vacant lot, full of skeletal reminders and pain. Five pressed his hands against the dirt, letting out a strained yell as he glanced towards the dead remains of his siblings. Their corpses, the thing haunting his nightmares, filling his vision every damn time he closed his eyes, lying in a horrific realization that he was back.

            He cried loudly, pushing himself back on his knees, his eyes towards the sky as soot and burning dust covered his body. He fell back letting his head smack against the ashy ground, his body weak and tired. He couldn’t save them. No matter how many times he went back, no matter how many times he did this… it would always end the same way. It always ended the same way. He couldn’t do this.

            His stomach twisted and he turned slightly, retching loudly as his body shook against the sweaty convulsions wreaking his frame. He pushed himself up on his elbow, wiping his mouth harshly as tears fell from his lashes, and he rubbed his dirty sleeve across his eyes. He felt weak. Gone. Old. He was old. And this, this was killing him.

            He closed his eyes briefly, focusing on getting back, focusing on jumping, time traveling back. He needed to get back. It was important. He couldn’t watch them die over and over and over. He would go back, as many times as it took. He’d made a promise.

            “You can’t keep this up, Five. We both know you have a limit.”

            The 13-year-old opened his eyes slowly, his jaw locking as he pushed himself up, swaying dangerously as the dusty world around him shifted into a blur of black and brown. He stumbled slightly, shaking his head as he turned to face the Handler. She laughed softly, one of her eyebrows raised as she walked down a few half-standing stairs.

            Five clenched his fists, heat surrounding him as he felt power surging through his chest, sweat trickling down his dirty face as he kept his eyes fixated on her. She sighed, pushing her hands in her black jacket, “If you keep this up, you’ll probably die.”

            The teenager smirked, swallowing against the nausea still coursing through his body and focused on the jump he was about to make. His strength was fading fast, his side was burning but there wasn’t any blood, and the apocalypse was getting harder to focus on. She was right, he didn’t have long. He was reaching his limit.

            He shoved his body forward, gripping the gun in his hand he’d stolen from her pocket, and aimed it toward her a few inches away. The Handler raised another eyebrow, a bemused look crossing her face as the gun shook in the teenager’s hot hand. She licked her lips, “If you kill me, I’ll just be replaced.”

            “That’s probably true,” Five growled, “But what if I torture you?”

            In a spilt second, the teenager cocked the gun, aiming towards her left thigh and pulled the trigger. The shot rang off the crumpled buildings, echoing around him piercingly, and the Handler screamed before grasping at her thigh and glaring up towards him, “You little shit!”

            The 13-year-old cocked his head, wincing slightly as the ringing in his ears continued, as he tried to keep a cool, collected manner. He raised the gun again, “Now. I’d like to discuss the apocalypse.”

            The Handler shook her head, “I told you, it’s beyond my control. It’s supposed to happen.”

            The teenager took a shaky step forward, swallowing against the bile rising in his throat as he glanced around. His eyes met Luther’s hand sprouting from the ground, Diego and Allison buried under rubble, Klaus lying motionless on top of destroyed memories. Five shook his head, turning back towards the Handler and firing off another shot.

            The gun shook in his hand as he dropped to his knees, his legs failing to support him as the stupid world swam in front of him and he dropped the gun, letting it hit the dirt with a dull thwack. He pressed a hand against the ground to stop himself from falling face forward and glanced up towards the Handler, wincing as the sun filled his vision before disappearing behind another cloud of smoke.

            “Like I said, even you have a limit, Five,” The Handler snapped, limping a few feet in front of him before stopping and leaning against a standing pillar. She winced loudly as she pressed a hand against her shoulder, pulling back a gloved hand to find it stained in dark red. She glared back towards the teenager, “I forgot how good of a shot you were.”

            Five smirked, a goofy smile masking his face momentarily in a drunken way before his stomach lurched and he lunged forward, spewing bitter stomach acid on the dirty ground. He coughed loudly, breathing heavily, sweat dripping from his forehead as he gulped several times. He waited for his stomach to calm before looking back up, wiping his mouth once more on his sleeve.

            He pushed himself back, letting his body fall against some bricks behind him, the gun laying next to him, waiting. He watched the Handler tend to her wounds for several minutes, grinning. He leaned back against the pile of bricks, deciding he’d wait a few minutes before trying to jump again. The teenager ran a shaky hand through his hair, pulling out some loose rubble before wiping at his forehead. He didn’t remember the apocalypse being so damn hot.

            “You always were reckless, ruthless,” She said, glancing back towards Five. The 13-year-old shrugged, “The perfect assassin as I seem to recall.”

            The Handler sighed, stepping closer, limping as she caught herself from falling, and Five glanced down to see one of her white heels was broken; tiny red droplets staining the shiny fabric. The teenager coughed slightly, leaning over, spitting bloody saliva from his mouth as he coughed again. He felt dizzy. Thirsty. Sick. And the bitter taste of blood left over in his mouth, wasn’t helping him.

            A noise sounded to his right and the 13-year-old jerked his head up, his hand instinctively grasping the gun sitting next to him as his eyes met two idiots in cartoon masks. Cha-Cha and Hazel. Five shook his head in disbelief as they grasped at their guns, turning them around to face him, and he let out a loud laugh as he turned back to face the Handler.

           “You couldn’t stop me yourself, so you sent these two jokes in to do it for you? Really? You can’t be serious.” He said, pressing his back harder against the bricks, forcing his body up roughly. His vision blurred momentarily, and he heard someone yell his name before the apocalypse came back into view in all its shitty glory.

                   The Handler crossed her arms, “Not stop you, Five. Kill you.”

                   The 13-year-old laughed again, looking up at the sky as he took a wobbly step forward. This was unbelievable, truly. He glanced towards the Temps then back towards the Handler, “After all these years, and you still think you can kill me? After everything you’ve taught me? For trying to save the world?”  

                   “For trying to stop the inevitable, Five. This will happen. No matter how many times you go back. No matter how many lifetimes you live. I’m just making it easier on you.”

                    The teenager swallowed. Wind whipped around him as some bricks a few feet away finally caved, falling to the ground dully, dust clouding around it, and Five stepped back slowly. The dust was clouding most of the air now, mixing with the smoke still rising from the ground, and the 13-year-old doubled over, coughed loudly, trying to clear his lungs. The air was getting harder to breathe now, hot and heavy; and his limbs were starting to feel tired, useless.

                      “I’ll tell you what though, Five,” The Handler yelled, and the teenager glanced up, peering through the thick cloud of dirt, “I’ll let you have two minutes.”

                     Confusion crossed the 13-year-old’s face as he straightened his posture. _Two minutes? For what?_ Something moved to his left, and Five flinched, shoving away air as he jumped, landing harshly against a half-standing wall. He breathed heavily, his heart pounding against his chest as his breathing came out in harsh, sporadic waves. Sweat plastered against his face, dripping down his cheeks, soaking into his shirt, making it stick to his overheated body uncomfortably.

                     He slammed his head against the wall behind him, cursing slightly as pain shot through his side and he glanced down to find, thankfully, there wasn’t any blood. He heard something move to his right and he peered around the corner of the wall, squinting painfully as he tried to make out the shape in the cloudy distance.

                    “Come on out, Five,” The Handler yelled, “I thought you wanted some alone time with your family. I won’t give you this chance again.”

                    Five pressed himself harder against the wall as he realized the shape in the distance was Luther. His body twisted and distorted, stiff and dead, but he was standing… they were all standing. Five closed his eyes, “No. No. No. NO!”

                    He let out several shaky breaths. This isn’t what he wanted. He wanted them back. Not dead. He wanted to save the damn world. He smacked his head against the wall again, coughing as a wave of dizziness washed over him and a nauseating warmth filled his veins.

                   “One minute, Five. Better hurry.”

                   The 13-year-old opened his eyes slowly, standing even more so. His body swaying as he stood and he pushed himself away from the warm brick, letting the dust clear around him before taking a step towards her. He winced loudly as his body jumped and fell to his knees a few feet in front of the Handler. He glared towards her, his foot laying over the gun on the ground before glancing towards his siblings, tears welling in his eyes.

                   He choked, letting his body fall forward, his hands mash against the dirt, dust coating his hands in a sticky sweaty fashion as he continued to stare up at his siblings. Dust, blood and soot covering their bodies, their eyes lifeless and gone, fixed on him, their limbs bent at ungodly angles as little pieces of rubble fell from their hair. Luther took a step forward, “This is all your fault, Five. If you had let us help you, if you hadn’t been so selfish, if you hadn’t been so damn arrogant to prove you were better than us, then maybe we could have survived.”

                  Tears swelled in his eyes, dripping from the teenager’s long lashes, running down his cheeks in dirty trails as he shook his head. He didn’t start the apocalypse. Harold Jenkins did. This wasn’t his fault. And yet, he had left them.

                  Diego snorted, “You know, maybe you shouldn’t have ever left. Better yet, maybe you should have just stayed gone.”

                  “Because then I at least could have spent my last few days with my daughter,” Allison said, stepping forward. She stumbled slightly and Five glanced up, letting out a soft sob as she fell, her body dropping like dead weight and he reached for her. But she was already gone. His minute was almost up.

                  He swallowed thickly, letting out a loud cry as Diego and Luther dropped, dust clouding their bodies. The air hurt his lungs now. His arms were shaking, and he doubted he be able to jump accurately or hold himself up much longer. He dug his fingernails further into the warm dirt, letting the soft ground eat away at the sweaty flesh, painfully.

                  Klaus knelt down in front of him, and Five gulped, tears dripping from his chin, gathering into a dirty puddle on the ground below him. He closed his eyes briefly as Klaus’s fingers slipped under his chin, forcing his head up, and the teenager watched as the alarmed concern that plagued his brother’s face twisted, contorted into hatred and disgust. Klaus dropped his hand, and stood, folding his arms over his chest, “Our life has been so fucked since you came back, old man. I’ve lost people I loved, lost him- Diego’s right. You should have stayed gone because you couldn’t save us. And we can’t save you.”

                  The teenager let out another cry as Klaus dropped, his body falling against the others in a pile of dust, and he pressed his head against the ground as the wind picked up around him. He couldn’t save them. No matter how hard he tried, and yet, he had to keep trying. Because he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t be alone. Not for another 45 years.  

                   He pushed his head up slowly as someone called his name and he glanced around. Dolores was lying in the dirt a few feet away; her face turned towards him, regret etched into her lifeless form, and the teenager reached a hand towards her as something moved next to him. He looked up to see the Handler standing over him, an amused look crossing her red lips. She sighed loudly as she bent down, “How pathetic, Five. How old you are, and yet you still hang onto the hopes of a child.”

                 Tears still fell silently from the 13-year-old’s face as he pushed himself up on his knees slowly. He glanced towards Dolores, then towards his siblings. He wiped at the water stains on his cheeks, letting out a hot breath as air refused to fill his deprived lungs. Smoke and dust clogging his throat, making him gag harshly before he spit more blood from his mouth, and he turned back towards the Handler. His side burning.

                 “I-I want them back,” He said forcefully, feeling tears welling in his eyes, “I-I can’t be alone. Again. For 45 years. I don’t want to be alone.”

                 The Handler smirked, shaking her head slowly, her fingers ghosting over his cheek tenderly, “But you weren’t alone. Remember? You had Dolores.”

                 Five fell back, shoving his feet forward as he glanced towards Cha-Cha and Hazel inching closer. He swallowed, rubbing his dirty sleeve across his sweaty face as he grasped the gun now next to him, and raised it, aiming it towards the Handler. Shock spread across her features for a fraction of a second before a calm, collected expression filled her face.

                 She sighed, standing slightly, watching as the gun followed her movements, “I told you, Five. If you kill me, I’ll just be replaced.”

                 The teenager’s hand was steady and even, his breathing barely audible as he cocked the gun, his finger on the trigger. A grin filled his face stupidly as his head reeled and he wondered just how long his body would hold; how quick this would be.

                 He glanced towards Cha-Cha and Hazel, and stood quickly, his body jumping, and he landed behind them, shoving the gun into Hazel’s back and fired. Blood spurted from the older man’s body and he fell before Five jumped again, his gun pressed against Cha-Cha’s chest. He forced her gun down, throwing it behind him and he fired a shot through her torso and watched her fall, blood pooling on the ground, splattered across his clothes. And he turned to face the Handler.

                She stood several feet from him, a shotgun raised in his direction, and Five smirked. His vision swam and he blinked sluggishly as he realized he was losing consciousness. He was beyond his limit. And he was done. He coughed roughly, blood falling from his mouth and he ran a shaky hand across his chin, smearing the stupid crimson across his face.

                He turned slightly, hearing some yelling his name, and his eyes met the lifeless ones of Luther, Diego, Allison, Klaus. The Handler cocked the shotgun, and the teenager glanced back in her direction, aiming the gun and firing towards the black briefcase sitting on some bricks a few feet behind her. She jumped, and Five fell to his knees, breathing heavily.

                He clenched his eyes shut tightly as the sun filled his vision momentarily and groaned as he forced his body to jump one last time. The ground spun beneath him and he gagged, coughing up more blood and bitter saliva, as he tightened his grip on the gun, keeping it raised towards the Handler.

               He felt the cold barrel of the shotgun against his temple, and he forced his eyes open, pressing the gun harder under her ribs. A goofy smirk crossed his face as he stared up at her, blood and sweat dripping in his eyes, down his chin. The Handler smirked back, shaking her head slowly in disbelief, “That was reckless, Five, even for you. So, what? You travel back to your time? Leave me stranded here for 45 years?”

              Five grinned, his eyes feverishly bright, his skin painfully hot, and he laughed slightly, “You still don’t get it. None of you do.”

              The Handler raised an eyebrow, pressing the gun harder against the teenager’s head causing him to wince. Wind whipped around them, dust, ash, soot eating away at their bloody clothing, and the smell of burnt wood, cement and rotting flesh filling their nostrils. Behind them, bricks fell from a crumpling archway, and the ground shook slightly. The muddy ground swimming under the teenager’s shaking knees as he struggled to stay upright, to breath, to stay conscious.

             “Get what?” The Handler asked after a few minutes. The teenager glanced once more towards his siblings, Dolores, then towards the lifeless bodies of Cha-Cha and Hazel before looking back up. The 13-year-old coughed roughly, his mouth drowning in blood as he smiled up at the Handler, watching her calm collected expression fade slowly, morphing into curiosity, concern… fear. She pressed the gun harder, the cold barrel piercing the burning flesh on his temple, “Get what, Five?”

             Five pulled the gun away from her ribs swiftly, shoving it under his chin and grinned towards the Handler, his eyes locking on hers for a split second before he pulled the trigger. Pain enveloped his head and he fell, dropping the gun, blood spewing from his mouth as he fell against something soft, sweat dripping in his eyes, down his face, matted in his hair.

             He grasped tightly at the soft material holding him up, clutching at the silky purple scarf he seen earlier as he coughed roughly. Something ran through his hair, pushing his bangs back and he felt his body go limp as his head fell against something solid, something real. His vision wavered, and he felt sick, dizzy, disoriented, detached from his body like the first time he’d jumped.

             He gripped again at the soft material surrounding him and it took several muddled minutes for him to realize that by some miracle or some fucked-up joke, he was back in the living room; he was back at the academy. And Klaus was holding him, his purple scarf swaying slightly as his brother continued to rock him back and forth like some kind of perpetual child. The teenager grasped again at the soft material of Klaus’s coat as he let his sweaty head fall against his brother’s shoulder and he let out a loud sob.

             “Shh, Shh. You’re alright, Five. We’ve got you, we have you now,” Klaus whispered, tightening his grip around his brother’s body, a hand running through his sweaty hair. Five blinked slowly. The world around him was hot and heavy, wavering in and out, the light flashing between what was real and what wasn’t. The past was bleeding into the present, the present into the future; and Five was having trouble holding onto any of it. His family had died… or maybe they would, but watching them die, seeing their deaths this last time hurt worse than before because he knew who they were… and he knew he hadn’t been strong enough to stop the end of the world.

             The teenager continued to cry, letting tears paint his face, running down his chin, mixing with the blood dripping from his mouth and onto the bandages wrapped around his abdomen. His breathing was reckless, old, and his lungs hurt from the air they refused to take. Maybe this was it, maybe his old age was killing him. He’d lived a lonely life, so maybe it was only fair he died before the world did. Gentle fingers slid under his chin, and Diego’s worried face filled Five’s blurry vision; Klaus’s grip tightening as Luther’s voice echoed around them.

            “We have you now. We have you,” Klaus continued, his fingers automatically running through Five’s messy hair as his brother coughed roughly. Heat fell over him, his heart pounding wildly against his chest and Five choked, tears trailing messily down his pale face as the thought of the apocalypse filled his mind. He was stronger than this, than them… the last 45 years proved that. But maybe the Handler was right, maybe he couldn’t stop the apocalypse, maybe it was supposed to happen. It was inevitable.

             His body fell heavily against Klaus’s chest, the room spinning in a multitude of nauseating colors, and the 13-year-old clenched his eyes shut as he tried to stop the tears falling from his eyes. As he tried to calm down. He needed to calm down. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He felt old. Weak. Wrong. Young. Sick. Hot. Hurt. He had forgotten what it was like to have a family… again. That’s why he’d come back.

            But truth was, he had three days. Three days to save the world. To save his family. Or he’d lose them, again. He’d lose this… and Five couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t. Not this time around. Because this was it. And one truly was the loneliest number.   

………………………………………………………………………………………

            _He stood there for a while, listening to the violin drifting through the old wooden door, leaning his head against the doorframe as Klaus and Ben ran passed him. Five shook his head as he watched the idiots trying to shove each other down the stairs as they went down. The violin paused for a moment, and the 13-year-old turned his head back towards the closed door, listening quietly as it started up again, a different song playing._

_Allison and Luther walked passed him, their hands separating when Five glanced towards them. He rolled his eyes. They weren’t actually related… well, Allison and Luther weren’t actually related, so no one would give a shit if those two actually started dating. Besides, Klaus had already called it 3 years ago._

_Luther nudged him on the shoulder as Allison knocked on Diego’s doorframe. Five kicked towards his brother and Luther dodged him before pointing towards the closed door, “Dude. Are you coming or what? We have to sneak out before Pogo catches us.”_

_“Yeah, yeah,” Five mumbled, turning back towards the door, “I’m coming.”_

_Luther gave him a look before turning back towards Allison and Diego, following them towards the stairs. Five sighed before knocking on the door. He bit his bottom lip as the playing stopped, a goofy smile toying on his lips as Vanya opened the door, her violin in one hand._

_“Five? What are you doing here? Was I playing too loud?” She asked quietly. Five laughed softly and shook his head, “No. We’re sneaking out to the donut shop before Pogo catches us. Klaus bet Ben 30 bucks he could eat a dozen donuts before he pukes.”_

_Vanya laughed, a surprised expression masking her face as she set the instrument on the bed, “Really? Last time he only got down half a dozen.”_

_Five shrugged his shoulders, “I know. But the psycho’s feeling lucky. Wanna come?”_

_Vanya paused for a moment, looking back at the violin before smiling, and she nodded. Five grinned, pushing himself away from the doorway awkwardly…_

            He felt hot. Burning. Suffocating against heavy air, and something thick was lying on top of him, making moving difficult, and making him feel trapped. He swallowed, flinching slightly as something wet touched his forehead, cheek, neck, chest. And he shivered as the sweat that plastered against his scorching flesh, felt suddenly dry and cool.

            Voices drifting in the background. Arguing reaching his ears as his world came back into a slow, hazy and hot focus. The 13-year-old groaned softly as fingers ran through his hair gently, and the sound of humming reached his ears. Someone was humming.

            Confusion clouded his mind, making it harder for him to formulate a coherent thought as Five tried to piece together what was happening, where he was, and who was with him. The last person who had sung to him was his mother, and-

           “Vanya?” Five asked, his voice weak and scratchy. He tried to open his eyes but found the task difficult and slow. His body felt like Jell-O, overheated and mushy Jell-O. He had always hated Jell-O, the translucent substance was annoying and disgusting, to say the least. Luckily, that shitty, wobbly gunk didn’t survive the apocalypse.

           Fingers clasped his hand, and Five opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the burning light hanging above him. His head spun and he closed his eyes, swallowing dryly as confusion settled over his features and warm fingers ran through his hair tenderly. He felt tears pricking his eyes as memories of his childhood hit him and he let out a slow breath.

          “Allison,” His sister’s voice met his ears softly, barely above a whisper, and the teenager winced as he tried moving. His body was heavy, and there wasn’t any strength left in his 13-year-old self. He was pathetic. This was pathetic. He was older than all of them and yet he was being cared for like some child. Like he was a child. And there wasn’t anything he could do about. It hurt. The memories hurt.

           The end of the world was in… well, honestly as this point, Five wasn’t exactly sure when the apocalypse was, but it had to be soon. Everything was hard to piece together; all muddled together in murky confusion set in an old mind. Nothing made sense. Especially, Allison singing to him. She’d never done that before. Not even when he was sick. It was always either mom or Vanya… and once Klaus, but that was more of an annoyance than anything else.  

           Five moved slightly, wincing as the movement sent pain flagging his right side, and he jerked his head towards the wound instinctively. Last time he was shot, he didn’t remember it hurting this much. Chalk it up to bad luck, miscalculations, and his prepubescent body. Figures, he’d have to go through puberty twice, so he might as well get shot twice.

          He cracked his eyes open again, squinting against the blinding light, the headache behind his eyes intensifying momentarily, and he grimaced. He blinked sluggishly as he glanced towards Allison sitting on the edge of the bed, towards her hand clasped around his. This was beyond embarrassing. If he could move, if he could speak properly, he’d tell them to leave. To go back to figuring out the end of the world because that was more important than sitting idly by some teenager’s bed while he slept.

          He closed his eyes briefly before something shifted at the end of his bed, and he glanced at the foot of the bed to find Klaus sitting cross-legged, hugging Dolores against his chest protectively, his eyes fixed on Five attentively. Five swallowed. He wasn’t used to this lovey-dovey crap; he’d forgotten what it felt like over the last 45 years… what it felt like to have a family again. It felt weird, embarrassing, painful, and part of that pissed him off. He wouldn’t watch over his brothers or sisters while they slept, or were shot, or whatever… he was trying to save them from a worse fate.  

         The teenager turned his attention towards the hallway, black dots eating away at his vision momentarily as his eyes met Diego and Luther arguing in the hallway. Diego was pointing a finger in Luther’s chest. _Shit._ The 13-year-old coughed weakly, turning back towards the ceiling, listening to the disagreement as he closed his eyes. He was so damn tired. His body was hot, the heat surrounding his limbs and mind making it hard to concentrate, and all he wanted to do was sleep, wake up, and be ready for his part. If they needed him… When.  

         “Kill him? Are you out of your fucking mind!”

         “Look, Luther, I’m not saying the kid’s right, but Five has a point. Allison said this Harold guy is Vanya’s-”

         Five groaned loudly, his face scrunching up slightly as he shifted, trying to move his burning body against sheets that hurt and limbs that refused to move. His body felt weak, mushy, gone; and he momentarily wondered if this is what it felt like to be crushed under the bricks he’d seen in the apocalypse. Maybe. He heard Klaus shift at the end of the bed, and Allison pressed something wet against his forehead causing him to flinch. Maybe he would die this time around. How fucked up that would be… but then again, if it saved the rest of humanity, if it saved his family, then his life didn’t matter.  

         “Hey, guys. Guys! Could you keep it down or go somewhere else?” Allison interjected. Five relaxed slightly, the argument stopping mid-conversation, and the sound of a door creaking open. He felt Klaus shift again and heard the floorboards creak as he could only assume the other two morons made it into the room. They were still bickering, but softer this time. _Fuck._

          The 13-year-old stayed still, he wanted them to leave, to go back to their tasks. But he was too weak to say that, his mouth felt like cotton, and he swallowed, listening to his family surviving around him. Without him. They had all survived without him… and if the apocalypse could be stopped then he’d leave and let them continue living without him. His siblings had been right. He’d been selfish. He was. For coming back, for wanting his family back, for wanting them to survive even if it meant losing him. Because the truth was, Luther was right. Five needed them a lot more than they needed him. He always had.

…………………………………………………………………………………

          There was this sound. This weird sound of metal scraping against metal when Five finally opened his eyes. The world surrounding him was dimly lit, the sky outside dark, and he turned slowly to find the moon caught in his bedroom window. It was a nice sight… but after 45 years, he’d had enough of that bright planet. The teenager smirked slightly, wondering if Luther was sick of it too.

          The sound caught his attention again, and the 13-year-old turned towards the door, squinting as his eyes tried to readjust to the figure standing in his doorway. He pushed himself up slightly, wincing as his side burned dully, and his arms trembled slightly as he forced his body into a sitting position.

          “If you bust those stitches again. I’m letting you bleed out,” Someone said, and Five ran a hand through his hair as he threw his legs over the edge of the bed slowly as Diego flicked the light on. Five winced again, blinking several times as his eyes readjusted to the light filling the small childish bedroom. He glanced down at his side, his hand tracing over the fresh white bandages carefully.

          Diego stepped closer, pulling a chair from the desk, letting the old wood scrape against the floor before sitting down. Five watched as he pulled the knives he’d been sharpening from his pocket, running the blades over each other again as he continued his task.

          “What are you doing here?” Five mumbled, shivering slightly as his bare feet touched the ground. His toes digging into the splintered wood, tracing over the scrapes and lines etched and carved on the floor. Diego snorted, “You mean besides babysitting your stupid ass?”

          “I don’t need a babysitter. I’m not a kid,” Five spat, glaring up at his brother as Diego paused, putting the knives in his pocket before leaning back and crossing his arms.

          “You sure about that, Five? Let’s review the last day, shall we? First, you get shot; don’t tell us. Then you sneak out of the house, force your stitches open and almost bleed out on the bathroom floor; don’t tell us. You even know how long it took Luther to clean up all that blood? Then you spike a fever and jump. Except you were so fucked out of your mind that we were literally in this stupid game of cat and mouse because you kept jumping; pull your stitches again, start vomiting blood, almost bleed out… For someone as old as you, you sure act like a child.”

          The teenager snorted, glaring towards the wall, clenching his teeth together. Getting shot wasn’t his fault, nor was the fever. He didn’t bother telling them because he figured he’d be able to manage three days on his own. Hell, he’d managed 45 years on his own. But…

          “It doesn’t matter,”’ The teenager said, turning back towards his brother, “I saw you die. All of you were dead. For 45 years. And I couldn’t stop it. And now, now I can. We have a chance to save our universe in some fucked-up comic book way. I can’t go back to the apocalypse again, alone. I can’t watch you guys die again.”

          Diego’s face softened slightly, and the teenager inched away as his brother reached out a hand. Five ran a hand through his hair, glancing towards Dolores lying on the foot of his bed as she asked if he was okay. He rolled his eyes.

         Diego sighed, “And we can’t watch you die, Five. We’ve already lost you once, lost Ben, Dad, Mom… we can’t lose another family member. No matter how screwed up this family is, bro.”

         The 13-year-old flinched, a chill breaking out over his body as he glanced back towards his brother. He’d spent so long hating himself, hating the fact that he forced himself into a situation that he couldn’t get out of, consumed by some sheer determination that he would find a way back eventually, that when the opportunity arouse, he never stopped to consider that he was back with his family again. Perhaps the reason was that if he stopped, even for a moment, if he stopped to think about finally being back, thought of his siblings as his family like he used to, then it would make losing them so much harder. So much more painful. That’s why he had to save the world. Because he still clung to that stupid childish hope that he thought he’d lost years ago.

         Five swallowed, looking down at his feet, his toenails still stained red from what he assumed was his blood. He cleared his throat, “Where’s Klaus?”

         Diego snorted, leaning back in the old wooden chair again, “Detoxing. After your little jumping stunt, the druggie started having withdrawals. Started begging me to tie him up with some rope he’d found in the old man’s office… twice. And Luther’s shifting through some of Dad’s old work or something; he’s convinced that the apocalypse is still linked to his mission on the moon or some shit. Allison is at Vanya’s apartment, waiting for her to get back.”

         The 13-year-old pressed his feet firmly against the floor and proceeded to stand when Diego reached out a hand, pressing it against Five’s shoulder, “Take it easy, Five. You only missed half a day, honestly. Besides, your stitches aren’t completely healed, and with Klaus probably trying to undo the knots with his teeth upstairs right now; if you pull them, like I said, you’re bleeding out, kid.”

        The teenager sighed loudly as he sat back down on the bed, “Stop calling me that.”

        “Fine, old man.” Diego said, smirking towards his brother as he pulled a knife from his pocket and went back to sharpening them. Five grinned slightly before leaning back against the wall behind him. Despite wanting to help, his brother was right, there wasn’t anything immediate he could do right now… and if he started bleeding again, then he’d only slow them all down. As much as he hated it, he was better off staying put until morning.

         Silence fell over them for a long time. Metal running against metal and Five watched as Diego continued with his knives. The teenager didn’t much care for knives, though he was good with them… better than Diego after his years with the Commission, better with any weapon really. After all, he was linked to some of the most famous murders in history…

         But when they were 11, him and Diego had gotten into a fight over something stupid. His brother had thrown a knife at him when Five jumped. And whether it was because Five pulled the knife with him or by sheer dumb luck, he’d gotten stabbed in the thigh. He still had a scar there from the shitty stitching job Luther had done afterwards. They’d never told their father; they were too scared the bastard would include that in some of his fucked-up experiments.

         “You remember that time, a few days before I left, we all snuck out to Giddy’s Doughnuts?” Five asked, glancing back towards Diego. His brother paused for a second before laughing, “Yeah, then when we came back, mom caught us, and Klaus threw up all over the rug because the dumbass had eaten a dozen donuts for 30 bucks. I was scared shitless. Thought for sure dad would find out. And I don’t think I’d ever been so scared of mom before… not that she thought anything about it.”

          Five smirked, shaking his head slowly, “Simpler times, I guess.”

         “Yeah,” Diego sighed, setting the knives on the nightstand gently, “First time he got high, too. With that 30 bucks.”

         “Alas, the junkie was born.”

         “Yeah. But you got to admit, Dad fucked him up pretty bad. Fucked us all up, I guess. The bastard. I mean, with what he did to Luther- not to mention Ben. You’re lucky you got out when you did, Five.”

         “Yeah…” The teenager trailed off, glancing towards the moon still hanging in his window. Diego was right. Five had gotten out, away; he didn’t have to put up with their father for 17 years, according to his siblings… and given he was already pretty fucked up, he could only imagine how screwed he’d be if he’d stayed. All of them were messed up; Klaus maybe more than them, then there was Ben. But for 17 years, his siblings at least had each other; and from what he’d read in Vanya’s book, there had been some bad times, dark times. And Five was lucky he missed those… but still, part of him wished he’d listened to the old man; he should have listened. He hadn’t been ready to time travel, he hadn’t acorned… not until he’d started Corrections. But even now, his jumps weren’t always accurate.

         “You hungry?”

         Five huffed, turning back towards his brother, “I’m stuck in a 13-year-old body of myself, what do you think?”

         Diego nodded slightly before standing, pushing the chair back with his foot, “Peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches?”

         “That depends. Did you buy any coffee?” Five stood slowly, biting the inside of his cheek as his side ached. He crossed his arms over his chest as he locked eyes with his brother. Diego was watching, probably contemplating shoving him back down…

        Diego shrugged, putting the knives in his pocket before turning towards the door. He glanced once more towards Five, then headed towards the door, turning in the hallway, “Are you coming or what?”

        The 13-year-old snorted, shaking his head slightly as he took a tentative step, testing the weight on his ankle, testing the strength in his body. He felt relieved that his body seemed willing to support him this time. Truth was, he felt better. Way better than he had earlier… better than he had in 45 years. Maybe his body bounced back easier because it was so young. But that had to count for something.

         Five nodded as he glanced back up to see Diego watching him. He rolled his eyes, “What?”

         Diego shook his head before starting down the hallway, “Nothing. It’s just, you move like an old man.”

         Five smirked as he walked towards the door, turning slightly to glance back at his childhood bedroom. There were so many memories in here, so many lives lived. And hopefully, there’d be more. The teenager sighed, running a hand through his hair as he followed his brother down the stairs.

         Two days. He had two days to save the world. To save his family. Two days to figure out the mindfuck that was the end of the world. And he’d go back and fix it, do it right, as many times as it took.


	2. Living Is For the Damned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys-  
> I wanted to post this warning before the chapter because this chapter is Klaus/ Dave centric. It discusses dark themes such as suicide, drug OD, self-worth, death, grieving, detoxing, and there is a scene where a dog gets shot. Just fair warning because this chapter is kinda dark. Also it's a Klaus sickfic/ detoxing. And basically "The day that wasn't." Their mom is still "dead" and stuff like last chapter :) Posting Endgame and Deadly Class hopefully by end of week :) And i might write another Five detailing what happened after he jumped :) also I kind of want to do teen Academy... Enjoy.  
> -KB

_Yeah, well, you’re lucky than most… at least when you lose someone you can see them whenever you want…. That’s not how it works… that’s never how it worked…_

Klaus leaned against the window, letting his overheated skin mesh against the cold glass, closing his eyes briefly as his knuckles throbbed and the black bruise surrounding his left eye began to ache. He heard Diego sigh, and he bit his bottom lip, struggling against the air he forced down his throat to stay calm. He didn’t want to be here. Fuck, he didn’t want to be alive. And yet, by some screwed up joke, he was stuck here… without him. Alone. Again. But this time… this time, Klaus wasn’t really sure if he would make it. He wasn’t sure if he could keep his promise.

He swallowed thickly, opening his eyes slowly to the trees whizzing past the car’s windows, his green eyes meeting the dark sky hanging over him. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He wasn’t supposed to die. No one was… ever. And yet, everyone who met Klaus Hargreeves died. His father was right. It was his fault. His powers weren’t a gift, they were a curse.

“Hey,” Ben said, his fingers gripping the seat behind Klaus as he forced his head to his brother’s left, “Klaus?”

“Leave me alone,” Klaus whispered, watching the trees swirl into a million shades of greens and yellows; his fingers thumbing over the necklace pressed against his chest as he tried to think about anything else, anything besides him. Besides yesterday. He heard Diego shift as the car slowed into the motel lot, “I didn’t say anything.”  

The older man ignored him, letting out a shallow breath as he reached for the half empty bottle of vodka sitting at his feet. He brought it to his lips slowly, taking a few long sips as he felt the warm liquid drown his mouth, resisting the urge to gag as the thought of getting drunk in some opioid bar in Vietnam crossed his mind. He closed his eyes again, swallowing the nausea rising in his throat as the necklace weighed on him, a fucking reminder wrapped tightly around his neck, strangling any life he had from his deprived lungs, broken heart and tortured soul. _It’s your fault, boy… it might have been Luther’s mistake, but…_  

Klaus bit his lip, feeling blood drown his mouth as he tried to drown out the past, as he tried to focus on the engine rumbling through the shitty car, vibrating the passenger seat… as he tried to think of something, anything to keep him grounded… if even for a few minutes. A few minutes of peace. He heard Ben call his name again and his breathing hitched as he brought the bottle to his dried lips again. He couldn’t take this. He couldn’t do this. He was too fucked up… too damaged. He was drowning. Alone.

“Alright,” Diego cleared his throat, “You stay in the car.”’

The older man opened his eyes, momentarily surprised to find the old piece of junk Diego called a car, had stopped. He glanced around slowly, before looking towards his brother, following his gaze to the two-story motel. His eyes locked briefly with a big guy getting out of his car, and Klaus watched lazily, his skin crawling as memories flooded his mind and he watched the man walk up the stairs. Hazel. _You got the wrong brother… no one in that house will even know I’m gone._

“You do know killing those people isn’t going to make you feel any better,” Klaus whispered, taking another drink from the now empty bottle before letting it drop to his feet next to the other bottle he’d stolen from the bar. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair, feeling the OxyContin he’d taken earlier beginning to kick in, and Klaus prayed for death. Diego shifted again, turning to meet his brother’s gaze, “Oh yeah? Because when it’s done, I’m going to sleep like a baby.”

The older man stayed silent for a second as he tried to concentrate on the determination etched in his brother’s voice. He snorted slightly as he reached for the silver door handle, chills running over his body, “Sure you will…”

Diego reached out, grasping his brother’s shoulder as Klaus’s fingers hovered over the cold metal. Klaus paused before turning back slowly as Diego gave him a stern look, “Stay in the car.”

“What are you talking about!” Klaus yelled, jumping forward as he tried to shake his brother off, “This guy tortured me!”

Diego paused momentarily, his expression shifting from serious to concerned in a matter of seconds before he sighed, “I have a plan.”

Klaus sat back, his body relaxing slightly as the effects of the pills he’d taken just an hour ago began to hit him full force, and he watched his brother get out the car. He sighed loudly, his fingers brushing against the stupid necklace again, and he swallowed. He didn’t want to be alone… he couldn’t handle alone right now. And yet…

“Dude, we’re going after him, right?” Ben asked, shoving his body through the tiny space between the passenger and driver’s seat as he forced his lanky form into the driver side. Klaus rolled his eyes. He was so tired. So fucking tired of this. All of it. He was tired of trying to save people… mainly because he couldn’t save anyone… and yet, it made him selfish to think that someone would be willing to save him. That someone could, and that someone almost had.  

Tears swelled in his eyes and the older man wiped at them harshly as he tried to stay together. He was weak. He’d always been. His dad was right. He was right about him… and when push came to shove, he was probably going to let his whole family die. He was going to let them die just like he let Ben die. That was his curse. That was his reminder.

“Dude!”

“Fuck off, Ben! Can't you go haunt someone else for a while?” Klaus yelled, turning towards his brother as anger washed through him. He paused for a second as his vision wavered, and the teenager’s expression shifted from concern and worry, to hurt. _Shit._ Ben didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve what happened to him… he didn’t know. He wasn’t there… with Klaus. Ben didn’t know. And Klaus had come so close to normal. So very close… _I think I love you…_ _I have enough faith for the both of us._

Something moved a few yards in front of him and Klaus watched as Diego made his way towards the stairs. Klaus groaned loudly as he pressed his fingers against the car handle again, prying the damned metal open forcefully and he fell against the pavement. His face pressed against the hot ground momentarily and for a second, for a split second, Klaus saw him. Tears pricked at his eyes again as Ben filled his vision, and the older man groaned once more as he pushed himself up, pressing a hand against his head as the world around him swam into a warm, relaxed hell.

He pressed his sweaty back against the open-doorframe, the wind washing over him in chilly reminders as he smacked his head against the passenger door harshly. He didn’t want to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be. And yet, here he was… alone with a dead kid and a two almost empty bottles of vodka. How fucking poetic.

Klaus swallowed as he shoved himself up, his eyes meeting Ben’s momentarily before reaching for the other bottle on the floor. He wanted to cry. Fuck, he wanted to do so much more than that, but right now, right now he had to go save his idiot brother before the psychotic ninja got himself killed. Besides, crying wouldn’t make anything better. It wouldn’t make him feel any better… and it wouldn’t bring him back. He was weak. _Speak up, boy!_  

He felt like he was moving slowly… or maybe everything around him was moving slowly and he was moving fast, faster than normal. He wasn’t really sure. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore. He reached the stairs, following his brother quietly as his hand reached in his pocket, pulling out a small plastic bag filled with pretty much any type of poison he could get his hands on. And he paused behind his brother as he reached for some Tylenol.

“Dude, are you serious right now? LSD?” Ben whispered, his breath hitting the back of Klaus’s neck making the older man shiver as he threw the white pills in his mouth, swallowing dryly. Was it a good idea to take two Tylenol laced with LSD on top of a bottle of vodka and some OxyContin? Probably not. But if it could keep Klaus from feeling, from seeing him, from the memories… fuck, even if it killed him, then Klaus didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything right now. He was too far gone.

The older man shivered slightly as the wind blew past them and he ran a shaky hand through his sweaty hair, “So, what exactly is the plan here, big guy?”

Diego jumped, whipping around as he faced Klaus, annoyance washing over his face as his eyes met his brother’s, “I told you to wait in the car.”

“Yeah,” Klaus mumbled, taking a sip from the bottle clasped in his hand, “But you also told me, licking a 9-bolt battery would give me pubes, so…”

Diego pressed a finger in his brother’s chest as the older man took a step down, “Dude. We were 8.”

Klaus sighed, a slight smirk crossing over his tired face as childhood memories hit him and he felt the LSD beginning to take effect. The world was more relaxed, and he was floating… he was okay. He felt okay, for now… and that, that felt like a breath of fresh air. He wanted to drown in this feeling.

Diego grasped his forearm, dragging his brother down the steps roughly, “For once in your life, I need you to listen to me. Now, go back to the car. If I don’t come out in 2 minutes, I’m probably dead. And if that happens, then go get help.”

Klaus smirked again, choking on a small laugh eating away at the back of his throat and the floor beneath him began to move. This was ridiculous. Diego wanted Klaus to go back to the car? He wanted to protect him? Because he was weak, because his powers were useless. They always had been. And yet, he somehow thought that going back to the car, to isolation, would help keep the older man safe? How unbelievably childish. Death didn’t scare him… _Soft fingers trailing down his back, tracing over the small scar on his left shoulder blade gently…_

“Klaus?” Ben asked, stepping behind Diego, and Klaus’s green eyes glanced slowly towards his other brother before swallowing, hard, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Diego repeated, his grip loosening around his brother’s shoulders as he turned back towards the stairs. He reached the top and turned back towards Klaus to make sure the older man was following his orders. Klaus forced a smile, waving him off, “Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay.”

The older man stood there, watching his brother disappear around the corner before leaning back against the dirty rail behind him. He shivered slightly as the wind picked up around him and he smirked towards Ben, standing opposite from him, his arms crossed. Klaus raised an eyebrow as he brought the mostly empty bottle to his lips again, “See something you like?”

Ben sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I know you’re not okay, Klaus. I can tell. Diego might not be able to, but I can tell.”

“Good for you. Hey, let me know when you find that 20 bucks you owe me,” Klaus whispered, letting the last of the vodka flood his tongue and he grimaced as his body began to feel numb, as the sweat that painted his face began to drip from his cheeks and soak into his green shirt. He pushed from the rail slightly as he heard a door being forced open, and stumbled, dropping the bottle on the ground, watching it shatter to a million pieces.

His breathing caught in his throat, and he swallowed thickly as his stomach churned. The world around him swirled in a multitude of colors and he felt his body sway as he stared down at the white clear glass shattered on the ground. It was broken… broken beyond repair. Nothing could fix it. Nothing would ever be able to fix it…

_…He opened his eyes slowly as bright light greeted the headache pounding in his head, and he groaned. He felt soft fingers trailing down his back, tracing over the small scar on his left shoulder blade gently, and he chuckled softly as his eyes met soft blue ones. A smile broke out on his face as he scooted closer towards him, pressing his head against the other man’s chest, smirking slightly as a strong heartbeat pounded against his ear…._

“Klaus?”

Gunshots went off and the older man ducked, looking towards Ben briefly before running up the small flight of stairs. He peered around the corner towards Diego as a bullet sliced through his brother’s arm, and Klaus grabbed him, slamming him against the wall, pressing his body on top of him as bullet’s continued to fly past them. Gunshots rang in his ears and Klaus bit his bottom lip, forcing his eyes shut as he tried to remember where he was… _That was a close one, huh? No. No. No. No. Medic! MEDIC! I need a Medic! Please…_

Diego moved slightly and forced his brother away as the sound of wheels screeching against pavement filled his ears. Klaus stumbled back slightly, his breathing hitching again, and he glanced down at the blood covering his shaking hands. _There was so much blood. So much fucking blood… all from him. From…_

The older man looked up, swallowing the sick feeling trying to climb his throat as he followed his brother, blindly. He stumbled drunkenly, falling against the ice cream truck next to Diego’s car as he wiped the blood on his pants, pressing his hands against his thighs harshly, trying to get them to stop shaking. Trying to calm down.

He felt weak. Disoriented. Off. His high had worn off quickly… or maybe he’d been here longer than he thought, and the alcohol sitting in his system wasn’t doing shit. His fingers shook slightly as he reached for the necklace hanging around him. He couldn’t breathe. The world around him was hell, and he couldn’t breathe.

“Oh man,” Klaus panted, pressing his hand against his chest as he leaned further against the truck behind him, “See, you used to think I was an idiot.”

Diego groaned as he turned towards his brother, “I still think you’re an idiot.”

“Same,” Ben grumbled, bending down slightly until he was eye level with Klaus, “Dude. You look like shit.”

“Well, thanks for your vote of confidence,” Klaus said, shoving away from the truck, taking a shaky step as the world around him morphed slightly, gunshots still echoing loudly in his ears, “So, was this all part of your master plan?”

“Shut up,” Diego grunted, turning back towards his arm, inspecting the blood seeping past his sleeve. Klaus swallowed as he turned towards the stairs, his eyes meeting a gardener raking some leftover leaves as if there hadn’t just been a shootout. The older man took another shaky step forward before yelling, “Oh no. We’re fine by the way! By all means… continue with your leaves!”

The gardener looked up slowly, confusion crossing his face as his eyes met Klaus. He dropped the rake in his hands and took a step forward, “You can see me?”

Klaus’s breathing hitched and he swallowed as he felt his knees wobble. Sweat poured down his face and he clenched his fists tightly, letting his dirty fingernails dig into the tattoos etched under his palms. He couldn’t breathe. His body was shaking, or maybe the world was shaking…

He glanced towards Ben, who took a step forward and Klaus took a step back, breathing heavily as he fell against the ice cream truck, smacking his head against the white paint. He felt weak. Tired. Lost. The gardener yelled again, coming closer and suddenly Klaus was sitting next to a young girl, blood melting down her face as she reached for him; her bloody fingers brushing over his overheated skin.

Ben called his name and Klaus let out a small cry as he glanced up towards the gardener a few feet from him now. He watched as blood he hadn’t noticed earlier began to coat his tan shirt, dripping from the bullet holes littering his chest. _Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!_ _So, you see dead people?_

Klaus drew his knees to his chest, forcing his hands over his ears as he slammed his eyes shut. He let out a small cry as dizziness washed through him, and he cracked an eye towards the young girl. She smirked slightly, blood pooling from her mouth as she smiled towards him and Klaus slammed his head against the truck once more, “Please. Please. Go away. Go away. Go away.”

“Klaus?”

The breathing in his throat caught, and tears pricked his eyes as the older man forced both eyes open, and he glanced up slowly. His hands fell from his ears, and Klaus let out a choked sob as his eyes connected with soft blue ones. With his soft blue ones. _No._

The world around him felt hot, dizzy and hard to breath. The gray parking lot morphed and twisted, leaving a nauseating feeling sitting in the pit of Klaus’s stomach as he tried to swallow down the memories. He reached forward, his arms shaking harshly as they struggled to hold up a tired body, and Klaus reached for him, his fingers barely tracing the blood lining his jaw.

“Dave,” The older man breathed softly. A sad smile broke out on his face and he let out another choked sob as the necklace hanging from his throat tightened. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t want to. He wanted to die. He should have…

Dave smiled gently, squatting down slowly until he was a few inches from Klaus’s face. Tears fell from Klaus’s eyes, trailing down his sweaty face in silent messy black rivers, and he swallowed as he tried to concentrate on anything, anything to keep him here. To go back. To keep Dave here. To stay. He wanted to stay. He needed to stay. He wasn’t okay. He was drowning. Alone.

“You need to have faith,” Dave whispered softly, fixing his helmet slightly as someone yelled Klaus’s name. Klaus shook his head, “I don’t.”

Dave chuckled slightly and Klaus choked again. He’d missed this. He’d missed him. He’d missed him so fucking much. And it hurt.

Dave reached out, his hand pressed against the older man’s chest gently, his fingers brushing against the necklace strangling Klaus’s air supply, “That’s okay...”

Klaus shook his head as Dave started fading, his smile etched in the older man’s brain and Klaus cried as he tried to grasp Dave’s hand. As he tried to make him stay. He felt sick. Abandoned. Alone. Dead. And it was all his fault. Everything was his fault. The dog, Ben’s death, dad, mom… Dave…

Klaus let out a loud cry as he pressed his hands against his ears, pulling his knees harder against his chest and the world around him morphed into a sickening hell. He wasn’t okay. He couldn’t do this. He felt dizzy, his body swaying harshly as someone called his name again, and Klaus pressed his head harder against the truck behind him, slamming his aching body against it as he tried to keep the memories from slipping through. As he tried to forget. _I think I love you, Klaus…_

…………………………………………………………………………………….

_“Are you ready for your surprise, my boy?”_

_The question hit the 13-year-old like a ton of bricks, and Klaus shrugged slowly. In all of his thirteen years of life, his father had never once given him anything, so the idea that he had suddenly decided to unearth a different side of him… seemed odd. But maybe his old man was growing soft. After all, Five had run away a few months ago, and they had almost lost Ben in Paris. So maybe, maybe… maybe he was trying to be fatherly?_

_Klaus glanced towards his father slowly, swallowing as his eyes met his father’s serious ones. He shifted nervously as he pressed a hand against his pants, pushing the newly rolled joint further in his pocket, his thumb brushing over the lighter in his back pocket. The 13-year-old swallowed again._

_He’d been outside with Ben; both smoking some shitty weed they’d conned off this hippie druggie a few nights ago. And if it hadn’t been for Vanya yelling out the window that their father was looking for him, Klaus was sure he would have been caught. Or maybe he had been caught. Maybe his father knew, and this? This was some fucked up trick that would result in him having to eat a pack of cigarettes or drink two bottles of scotch like he was forced to do a few months ago. Maybe this was his lesson._

_The 13-year-old shuddered. He nodded slowly as he messed with the dirt caked under his nails. He hated lessons. He hated his father. They all did… and honestly, the only reason Klaus was still here was probably because of his siblings. He was pretty sure he would have died or killed himself by now. But his siblings kept him in check, especially Ben despite his moodiness._

_His father returned the nod before opening the heavy metal door. They were in the basement; a place Klaus had been many times, and as he expected, a place his father started taking him for his lessons when their last session was interrupted by Luther._

_The teenager shivered as he stepped inside slowly. It was always cold down here… and creepy. It was like the morgue over on 5 th, or the Catacombs buried beneath the Academy, or the crypt in the backyard. He turned slightly as his father stepped inside, and the teenager stumbled over the slick ground, falling against the metal wall slightly. _

_His father made a quiet disapproving noise before reaching for the light switch on the wall. Klaus squinted as light flooded the small room, and he glanced around. He’d never been in this room before. It was smaller than the other rooms they usually did lessons in… but it matched all the others down here. Dark. Cold. Nothing but metal. Soundproof._

_The 13-year-old’s eyes connected with a small wobbling box sitting in the middle of the room, and he looked towards his father, an eyebrow raised. His father nodded, pointing his cane towards the box, “Go ahead, number Four.”_

_Klaus paused for a second, biting the bottom of his lip before slowly inching his way towards the cardboard box. Thoughts raced through his mind, the small high he’d gotten earlier from the joint, no longer there but instead replaced with paranoia, worry… interest._

_He reached for the top, his fingers shaking slightly as he gently unfolded the box, waiting for something, anything to happen. This wasn’t like most lessons… he’d never gotten anything. None of them had ever gotten anything. Ever._

_The teenager removed the last piece of cardboard, and he paused, glancing inside before a smile broke out across his face, and he laughed lightly. He reached for the puppy pawing at a corner of the box. It yipped slightly as Klaus brought it to his chest, and he turned towards his father, laughing again as the dog licked the bottom of his chin._

_His father stood there for a few minutes, a serious line forming on his lips as Klaus ran his fingers through the dog’s soft hair. He swallowed again as it licked him, and he met his father’s eyes. The puppy whined slightly before chewing on Klaus’s collar playfully, its paws smacking the teenager in the face lightly. And he laughed._

_They had never had a dog before. None of them were allowed to have any kind of animal… but that never stopped Five, who would occasionally feed the stray dogs and cats outside the Academy. Hell, his brother had even named a few, like the old Beagle named Mr. Pennycrumb. But after the boy had disappeared, the strays had stopped coming around… and Vanya suspected Mr. Pennycrumb died because she’d seen a dog on the side of the road who looked just like him. But, now? Having a new dog would cheer them up._

_Klaus swallowed, pulling the dog closer as he stepped towards his father, “Thank you. I can’t wait to tell the others!”_

_His father put his cane up, stopping the boy in his tracks and Klaus stumbled as he looked back up. His father sighed softly, “Put the dog down, number Four.”_

_The 13-year-old faltered slightly before sitting on the ground, running his hand through the puppy’s soft fur again. He swallowed nervously as he set the dog down, smirking slightly as it started chewing on his laces, growling at the thin pieces of string playfully. The teenager watched amused, names running through his mind as he struggled to figure out what to call her. If he had a name before he told his siblings, then they couldn’t change it. Maybe he should name her after Five? J-_

_A shot rang off and the teenager jumped up, his body pressed against the wall quickly as he froze, glancing towards his father. His heart pounded against his chest chaotically as he struggled to breath, his bottom lip trembling harshly as his eyes followed the gun clasped in his father’s right hand, then his father’s gaze fell on him._

_Klaus’s legs trembled violently, and he fell to his knees, glancing down at his hands, blood splattered across the pale flesh; and he forced his eyes to follow the trail of blood towards the puppy. Tears fell from his eyes as he pressed his shaky hands firmly against the cement, not daring to look away from the gory mess, his body shutting down as the dog howled loudly._

_The 13-year-old retched, half-digested grilled cheese splattering the floor as he let out a shallow breath before letting out a choked sob. Tears swelled in his eyes, falling from his dark long eyelashes in violent rivers, washing away the blood splattered across his face, and he reached a trembling hand towards the puppy. Blood pooled around her, trailing down the floor into the metal drain a few feet away._

_Klaus heard his father move closer, and he turned slightly, biting his bottom lip as his father knelt beside him, “You want a puppy. Then resurrect her.”_

_The dog whined again, and Klaus choked, looking back towards her. He couldn’t save her. He’d just gotten her, and he couldn’t save her. He felt sick. Plastered to the stupid cold cement floor, blood dripping down his face, watching the helpless dog die in front of him._

_The door clicked softly, and the 13-year-old turned to see his father locking him inside…_

He’d never told them about the puppy. He’d never told any of his siblings about any of them- the bird, the fish, the cat, the girl… drowning, the overdose, the other overdose, the darkness. He couldn’t. Or maybe he didn’t know how. Or maybe, in some fucked up nonsense type of way, it was easier for him if he just forgot. He never told them about Ben either… about the morgue.

Part of him had always wished he would wake up from this nightmare, mom standing over his bed reassuring him that he had been asleep like she did most nights when he was younger. She would sit with him, listen to him talk about the nightmares, about the darkness surrounding him… but after Ben, he’d stopped confiding in her. He’d stopped confiding in anyone. And he’d stopped sleeping most nights. After all, nothing helped… well, the drugs helped a little… but even after a time, they too stopped. _Speak up, boy! You’re nothing but a disappointment, a druggie… It might be Luther’s mistake, but you’re… I have faith…_

Klaus groaned loudly as he opened his eyes. The world around him was moving, swaying, passing by him in a multitude of oranges, greens, yellows and browns… or maybe he was the one moving. He ran a tired hand over his sweaty face as he blinked slowly.

He felt hot. Disoriented and sick… but maybe that was the drugs finally wearing off, or maybe the alcohol, or maybe he was finally dying. He coughed slightly as his stomach churned and he turned his head, his vision blurring momentarily before he met Ben’s face staring at him from the passenger seat. The 16-year-old let out a relieved sigh, “Well, you’re not dead.”

“Yeah, lucky us,” Klaus whispered, pulling himself up slightly before his stomach reeled and he let his head fall back against the solid door behind him. He closed his eyes as a wave of dizziness washed over him and he let out a heavy breath. Moving was not the best idea right now. Nothing seemed like a good idea right now. He was breaking, and honestly, this time, this time he didn’t want to stop it. The older man swallowed, draping an arm over his eyes as the car turned slightly.

“Hey, idiot? You alive?”

Klaus shifted again, forcing his arm back to his chest as he realized he wasn’t alone… well, another living being was in the car with him… and the car was moving. The older man coughed slightly as he forced his body up despite the sick feeling rising in his throat, and he grasped the shoulder on the driver seat to keep himself from falling back down. He turned towards Diego, giving him a forced smile, “Physically speaking.”

“Good,” Diego said, taking his eyes off the road momentarily to give his brother a once over, “You scared the shit out of me, dude. What the hell did you even take?”

Klaus shrugged, letting his body fall back against the sticky leather behind him. He winced as the sweat plastered against his skin stuck to the hot seat, and he let his head fall back, sighing loudly, “Oh, you know. A little bit of this, a dash of that, and-”

“A fuck ton of alcohol,” Ben interjected, moving once more between the passenger and driver’s seat in order to cram his body through the small space to force himself into the back seat. He landed next to Klaus, wedged between the door and the little amount of space Klaus was willing to give him. Ben groaned loudly as he tried to get comfortable, “Dude. Move.”

Klaus turned slightly, his head still resting against the seat, “No.”

“You literally have the other half of the car to yourself. Fucking move, Klaus.”

 “I’m not moving. We’re sitting like this. It’s fine. We’re fine.”

Ben cursed again before climbing over his brother to the other side of the car. He stretched his legs out, his back resting against the door, his arms crossed as he stared at the older man. Klaus smirked towards him, sweat trailing down his face as exhaustion filled his veins combining with the sleepless nights and nightmares that kept him up, and Klaus felt his eyes close slightly. Maybe the detoxing would knock him out and he'd sleep through this hell. 

“Well,” Diego cleared his throat, “You don’t look fine, bro.”

The truth was, Klaus wasn’t. He was so fucking far from fine… but, there wasn’t anything anyone could do. Klaus would either get over it, or he’d do something stupid like last time. There was no in-between. There was never an in-between. Because he was fucked up. He was broken. Damaged goods. A beautiful disaster. And Diego couldn’t fix him. He would never be able to fix him.

Diego cleared his throat, moving the mirror slightly to get a better view of his brother sitting alone in the backseat. He felt a chill run over him as the events from earlier crossed his mind, to Klaus freaking out… to him passing out… to his breathing…

“Klaus? Talk to me, man,” Diego said softly before focusing back on the road. Rain had started to fall, and the younger man shivered slightly as he turned on the windshield wipers. He had planned on going after Hazel and Cha-Cha, but when Klaus had freaked, Diego had only one thought on his mind- getting his brother somewhere safe. He wasn’t himself. And Diego knew his brother well enough to say that something was off, something was wrong… he was different.

Klaus swallowed, crossing his arms over his stomach as he pried his eyes open. He glanced towards Ben to find his younger brother staring at him intently, his eyebrow arched slightly, and worry painting his features. Klaus shook his head. He knew what the 16-year-old was thinking. He’d been there the last time Klaus had broken. He’d seen it… And Diego?

After Ben died, Diego had tried to be there for Klaus, he had tried to pick up the pieces, to fix him… but the sad truth was, Klaus was unfixable. He was broken. He’d always been. And the fact that his brother believed that he could somehow save Klaus from himself, hurt more than the constant reminder that he was alone.

Nausea washed over him, and the older man swallowed, sitting up slightly as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. He was hot, sweaty, and the fact that he smelled like body odor wasn’t helping his stomach. He felt the car jerk slightly and he groaned as his stomach lurched, trying to force whatever he’d eaten in the last few hours, up. Klaus cleared his throat, smirking slightly as he pressed his head in his hands and a small grin broke out on his face. Considering he was in Vietnam a few hours ago, then who knows what the hell was in his stomach.

_… soft fingers brushing up his jaw, lips pressed forcefully against his… I think I love you…_

Klaus groaned again as he peered up, biting his bottom lip. He felt Ben shifting next to him, “Hey, man, you look like you’re about to hurl.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Klaus shuddered before swallowing again and glancing towards Diego, “Pull over.”

Diego turned slightly; confusion etched across his face, but he slowed the car. Klaus fell back against the seat, letting his body decide what it wanted to do, and his brother turned around to face him. He felt Diego’s eyes on him, watching him, and he shivered, sweat soaking into his shirt, the necklace still choking the life from him… the dog tags weighing against his body.

“Klaus? Come on, talk to me,” Diego whispered as he reached a hand towards his brother. The older man let out a heavy breath, and he turned his head slightly, straying from his brother’s reach as he watched the rain glide peacefully down the glass window.

_…Steam rose around him as water smacked against his bare skin, trailing past the tattoos on his body, washing away the dirt, grime and blood, covering the small scars on his shoulder blade. Klaus shivered as lips pressed against his neck gently and he turned, smiling as his arms wrapped around Dave’s shoulders lightly…_

_“How do you know we’ll survive tomorrow?”_

_“Because I have faith…”_

Klaus’s stomach lurched, and he lunged for the door handle, forcing the stupid metal door open violently as he fell to his knees a few feet from the car. He meshed his shaking hands against the ground as his stomach retched, the last remnants of Vietnam spewing onto the moist ground. Rain fell past him, soaking into his shirt harshly, and he shivered, tears mixing with the cold water dripping from his face. His stomach lurched again as his heart pounded against his chest, the stupid organ continuing to beat against the memories flooding his mind.

_…Klaus’s fingers thumbed over the Star of David necklace hanging from Dave’s neck. His fingers paused, tracing the star gently before his fingers trailed up Dave’s neck, tracing his jaw, his cheek, and he pressed his lips against his carefully. The younger man grinned, pulling Klaus closer, pulling him back towards him as he kissed him again, his thumb running softly over his warm cheek._

_They were going to the front lines tomorrow. And as a thank you, they were able to have two nights on leave… to drink, eat, get high, rest… among things…_

Klaus choked, letting out a pained cry as memories hit him and he felt strong hands on his back, pulling him up slightly, and he stumbled, shoving his brother away as he fell backwards. Rain fell down his face, washing away the tears that swelled in his eyes, and Klaus shivered, pressing a hand against his stomach harshly. His eyes met the worried hurt masking Diego’s face, Ben hovering halfway out of the car a few feet behind, and Klaus turned away, stumbling slightly as he gripped at the necklace around his neck.

He shivered again, hearing his brothers yell his name as thunder boomed overhead and lightening shot across the sky. He dropped to his knees, pressing his right hand against the ground, watching muddy water wash over it, mixing with the blood covering it as gunshots rang in his head. He clenched his eyes shut, shaking his head slightly as he took a slow breath.

_…Dave was watching him. Watching him get dressed. He sat perched on the bed, his dog tags hanging loosely against his naked chest, and Klaus turned slightly, an eyebrow raised, “See something you like, Davey boy?”_

_The younger man stood, towering slightly over Klaus as he stepped forward, grabbing the older man’s left hand, running his fingers over it gently. He pressed his hand against his lips, smiling slowly before nodding, “Very much. Yeah.”_

_Klaus shook his head, snorting slightly as he pulled back, grabbing the tan shirt on the dresser before throwing it towards Dave’s direction… there was so much blood…_

“Klaus?”

Klaus let out a small breath, holding his hand up slowly as Diego took a tentative step forward. He coughed again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He was trembling, his knees threatening rebellion and his head threatening to pull him under… to pull him back to the memories… _I think I love you… please, no…_

“Klaus?” Diego tried again, stepping closer, “Talk to me, dude. What's happening?”

The older man let out a shaky sigh as he felt his stomach beginning to relax. As he felt the world around him beginning to come back into perspective, and he stood slowly. His eyes locked onto the woods in front of him, towards the bloody blurry figures dressed in white, staring at him through the darkness, and he shut his eyes briefly.

His throat hurt, and his breath was disgusting. He swallowed as he opened his eyes, letting out a small sigh as the people had vanished, and he turned towards his brothers. Diego was a few feet behind him, concern eating away at his features, his good arm outstretched slightly. He took another step towards Klaus, an eyebrow raised, “Klaus.”

The older man shook his head, wiping at the tears sitting in his eyes as he shoved past his brother. He cleared his throat, his fingers brushing the necklace pressed against his heart. He couldn’t do this. Not here. And not now. He was too tired. Too weak.

He reached the car, brushing past Ben’s questions as his brother climbed in the backseat, and Klaus opened the passenger door, throwing his wet body down against the hot leather. He shivered harshly as Diego opened the driver side door, and he let his head fall against the headrest. He was hot. He felt hot. Sick. Lost. His head was killing him, and the voices were getting harder to block out. It was too much. Everything.

“Klaus,” Diego sighed, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder, and the older man turned to face him slightly, “Talk to me, man. I know something’s going on. I know something’s wrong. And don’t give me any of that ‘I’m fine’ bullshit, because I know you’re not. Let me help. Talk to me, please.”

Klaus watched the expression painted on his brother’s face. He swallowed loudly. He knew Diego meant well, and he knew he was only trying to help- he was always trying to help. But he couldn’t this time… Klaus couldn’t be fixed. The older man shook his head slowly, “I can’t.”

Diego bit his bottom lip, giving his brother another once over as Klaus curled in on himself, his sweaty overheated body trying to produce some warmth against the cold water soaked into his clothes. The older man pressed his head against the window, watching the rain fall down the glass as his brother started the car. He closed his eyes, letting his mind wonder back to Dave, his fingernails eating away at the flesh on his thighs, and he coughed softly.

Despite being a Seance, Klaus had never really thought much about death. He’d always played loosely with the concept, not really caring about the outcome because it wasn’t death that scared him… it was living. But up until Dave, Klaus had never really had much to live for. When he’d met Dave; the first time they’d kissed, the awkward avoidance for weeks before that drunken night in that stupid opioid bar, the awkward naked morning after before they finally admitted they had feelings for each other, the secret touches, looks, the nights spent together on leave… love… love made Klaus scared of death. Because death felt like an intrusion, it was an intrusion. And he’d put so much effort into their relationship.

He trusted Dave with secrets he’d never told anyone, not even his siblings, and he loved him more than he loved himself… and in the end, death had still intervened. Faith didn’t hold up… or maybe, it was Klaus’s fault. Because he hadn’t had much faith. In anything. Until he followed Dave to the front lines, until he looked into his eyes and pictured a life back home with a stupid picket fence and maybe some kids… Until he looked in Dave’s soft blue eyes and saw a better life, until he saw a reason to live. But maybe that was his mistake. Because Klaus couldn’t save him… he couldn’t save anyone, ever. And in the end, it wouldn’t really matter because his father was right, he wasn’t really worth much. He’d never been.   

  ……………………………………………………………………………….

_His reflection was making him sick. His stomach twisting, turning, revolting harshly as he pressed his hands against the edge of the white porcelain sink, letting the cold water drown out the sound of retching. The 16-year-old wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he took a shaky breath and glanced towards the bathroom mirror again._

_Pale sweaty flesh, dark, tired and dull eyes surrounded by even darker black eyeliner he’d stolen from Allison’s room, met his gaze, and Klaus’s stomach lurched. The light hanging above him flickered and the teenager cupped his trembling hands, letting cold water pond between his fingers before splashing it against his clammy cheeks._

_Shadows beat against the ugly tiled walls, giving the voices shape, their yelling, shouting, pleading morphing into horrendous demons, and Klaus shivered. He took a shallow breath, his fingers shaking weakly as he reached in his pocket, pulling the small plastic bag of drugs he’d stolen from Ben’s room from his pocket. His slender fingers rummaged through the bag lazily before he grabbed a handful and threw them in his mouth, cupping his hand once more under the water before pressing it against his lips, washing down the bliss._

_He shuddered again, wincing as the voices grew louder, and he glanced at his sick reflection once more. His eyes drifting to the person standing behind him, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed as he gave Klaus a disapproving look. Ben._

_“You know you just took like an Upper, a Downer, and some Acid,” Ben said carefully, pushing away from the doorframe as he stepped further into the bathroom. The lights flickered again, and the 16-year-old winced, forcing his burning eyes closed as Ben continued, as the voices began to match faces from his past and everything got harder to block out. His arms trembled, his body shaking against his tired frame and Klaus shook his head slowly, “You’re not real. You’re not real. You’re not really here…”_

_His knees buckled and the 16-year-old fell, grasping onto the sink tightly as gravity pulled his body down, as his mind began to relax as whatever he’d just taken began to take hold. He pushed himself against the wall, his heated back pressing harshly against the cold tile, making him feel more nauseous than he already was. He felt cold. Weak._

_“Klaus?”_

_The teenager opened his eyes slowly as Ben knelt in front of him, worry filling his face. Klaus shook his head slowly, swallowing against the panic pounding in his chest as he struggled to breathe. He reached a trembling hand towards his brother, his fingers meshing against his black jacket, forcing through a non-existent object, a dead thing. Ben was dead… he’d died three days ago…_

_“You’re not here,” Klaus choked, “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. I couldn’t save you.”_

_Tears flooded his vision, and Klaus drew his knees to his chest, his fingernails digging harshly into the bare flesh on his thighs, wet sticky blood sliding down his legs. Ben shook his head slowly, “It wasn’t your fault.”_

_Klaus pressed his head against his knees, forcing his fingers deeper into his thighs as he struggled to block out the voices around him, as he struggled to focus on the real, the now. He felt his body rocking, his back hitting the back tile, sending shivers down his spine every time the wall touched his naked back. He let out a slow breath, his father’s words echoing in his head as he glanced back towards his brother. It might have been Luther’s mistake, but you’re the reason…_

_It’d been three days since Ben died. Three days since Klaus’s breakdown, three days since he’d seen his father, and three days since the funeral. And yet, the 16-year-old had woken up to his dead brother standing over his bed last night, looking more alive than he’d ever been. And despite the drugs, cigarettes and alcohol, Ben was still here. He wouldn’t leave. Klaus wanted him to leave, like the others… then again, maybe he was afraid his brother would. Maybe he was afraid he’d be left alone. By himself. Too afraid to drown in his own darkness. Again._

_Klaus pressed his forehead harder against his knees, slamming his hands over his ears as he continued to drown out the voices screaming through his head. Sweat dripping down his face, puddling against his grey sweatpants as he continued to rock, his eyes squeezed shut as he pleaded with anyone, anything and everything to make them go away. To make his brother go away. To make the guilt and Ben’s screams go away… and to wash away the blood covering his hands._

_“Klaus, it’s not your fault.”_

Klaus coughed softly as he leaned back against the tile wall in the bathroom, glancing up at the flickering lights as the bright bulb burned against his skin, leaving memories etched in front of him. He shivered as he ran a hand across his aching chest and flushed the toilet next to him before leaning his head against the wall with a light smack.

“Dude, you look like shit,” Ben said. Klaus glanced towards his brother leaning against the doorframe, and he flipped him off. Truth be told, Klaus felt like shit. But he wasn’t going to let the 16-year-old have the satisfaction that easily.

Klaus’s stomach churned again, and he let out a slow breath as he swallowed against the sick feeling in his throat. He didn’t really remember how he’d gotten here… somewhere between the awkward silent car ride home and the rain pounding against the metal hood of Diego’s car, Klaus had fallen asleep. It wasn’t until his brother had forced the older man to stand that Klaus realized they were back at the Academy. After that, it was mainly a blur.

Sweat fell from his face and Klaus shivered. His clothes were plastered to his body but whether it was from the bucket of sweat currently leaving his body or the storm outside, Klaus didn’t know. He groaned as he ran a hand through his hair, deciding whether it was worth it to even try standing, or if he should just sleep on the ground. _There was so much blood…_

Klaus flinched as the bathroom door creaked open, and he squinted past the harsh lights hanging above him as Vanya stepped cautiously into the bathroom. He swallowed, drawing his knees to his chest slowly as she glanced around before her concerned eyes met his, “Klaus? Hey, are you okay?”

Klaus snorted slightly as she knelt in front of him before he pressed a shaky hand against the wall, pulling himself up on trembling legs. He put a hand to his stomach, groaning loudly as his body threatened to pull him back down. Moving wasn’t his best option- fuck, it was a terrible option, but it was the only one he had.

He pressed a hand against the sink tightly, his other still pressed firmly against his uneasy stomach and he shivered as he caught sight of his reflection in the dusty mirror. He looked dead. Hell, he probably was. Pale fevered skin, dull lifeless eyes, the remnants of black eyeliner trailed down clammy flesh, and his lips, cracked, dried, broken; dried blood still caked on his top lip from the bar fight, a bruise outlining his left eye. Fuck. 

The older man jumped slightly, feeling a gently hand on his shoulder and he closed his eyes as cool fingers ran through his sweaty hair. Sweat dripped from his chin, and Klaus bit his bottom lip as tears threatened to fall past his lashes. He was so sick of crying. So sick of hurting, of feeling like this… he was so sick of being weak.

“Hey,” Vanya whispered, and Klaus opened his eyes. His body trembling as it struggled to remain upright. If he fell, he’d bring his sister down with him considering he towered over her, and he gripped the sink harder, his busted knuckles turning white from force as he met Vanya’s gaze. _You’re weak… a stupid disappointment stunted by fretful, morbid temperament…_

“You’re burning up,” Vanya said softly, her hand still pressed firmly against her brother’s shoulder, “And you’re shaking.”

Klaus nodded slightly, turning back towards the mirror, anger coursing through him as he met his reflection again. He sighed loudly, “D-detoxing. It's a bitch.”

“Yeah,” Ben said slowly, filling the empty space in the mirror, “I think you’re dying, bro.”

“Drop dead,” Klaus whispered, glancing back down at the sink, his stomach lurching and he clenched his teeth. Vanya ran her hand over her brother’s back gently, “I-I didn’t say anything.”

Klaus winced, clenching his eyes shut as the voices came back to him, running through his head and he resisted the urge to fall, resisted the urge to scream. Images came to him, faces from his past, faces from his future, of people he’d never met, and he bit the inside of his cheek, hard. Blood filled his mouth and the older man winced again, forcing his eyes open, his hands crushed against the sink as the reflection staring back at him made him sick. As the person staring back at him made him sick.

His stomach rebelled, and Klaus lurched, blood and foul saliva dripping from his dry mouth, and he winced again, turning his head slightly as the voices grew louder. Vanya tightened her grip around his bicep, her small fingers sliding up as the sweat that covered her brother made it hard to get a good grip on him. Klaus coughed roughly, shoving a shaking hand towards the faucet, turning the water on as blood dripped from his mouth, painting against the white porcelain in a thin red trail.

Klaus cupped water to his mouth several times, swishing the tasteless liquid around cautiously before spiting the pink water back in the sink. He leaned over the sink, closing his eyes, letting his head fall against the thin mirror, hearing a soft crack as his head met the wall. This wasn’t the first time he’d detoxed… and this wasn’t the first time he’d detoxed in front of his siblings. When he was 19, he’d wound up on Vanya’s couch for about a week, vomiting up a life’s worth of drugs, alcohol and fun. Or when he was 22, and he’d stumbled back to the Academy, half-coherent and barely alive, where his father locked him in the basement downstairs. Or the other times... 

“Klaus?”

The older man opened his eyes slowly, turning weakly to stare down at his sister, realizing he was leaning more against her than he thought. He pulled himself back up slightly, “Sorry.”

Vanya shook her head, her grip still tight around her brother’s arm, “Are you alright? Should I get someone?”

Klaus bit his bottom lip, shaking his head slowly as he forced his body to stand. He wasn’t alright. And even after getting all this shit out of his body, he still would be far from alright… but at least he could summon then, at least he could talk to him again.

Vanya eyed him, letting her hand fall from his arm slowly before taking a step back, “Well, I just came to give you guys some tickets to the concert in a few nights. I’m first chair.”

Klaus forced a smile. He swallowed slowly, standing up straighter, a hand still pressed against his stomach, “That’s amazing.”

Vanya smiled faintly before reaching her hand out as Klaus winced loudly, his knees buckling, and he slammed against the sink. The world around him disappeared momentarily and for a second, just a second, Klaus felt his body drowning in his darkness. The older man felt fingers wrap around his torso as hands struggled to pull him up, and he followed, pulling his body up, pressing himself against the sink as he forced his eyes open. He cleared his throat, letting out a shaky breath as Vanya asked again if he was okay.

Klaus pushed away from her gently, reaching a hand towards the doorframe, forcing his legs to move as his body leaned against wall heavily. The hall swirled around him as his heart pounded against his ribs, beating against the sweaty skin and fire burning in his veins, against the broken soul plaguing his being, and the headache pulsating up his neck. He nodded slowly, waving his hands towards his sister in an attempt to reassure her, “Oh, I'm just... dandy.”     

“Like hell you are,” Ben grumbled, and Klaus stopped momentarily to shush his brother. Ben was annoying sometimes… and he was hardly encouraging. Ben flipped him off. The older man coughed, forcing his legs to move again but paused when he felt a cold hand grasp his sweaty wrist. He turned, grimacing against the hallway lights as it blinded him briefly before meeting his sister’s gaze once more.

“Klaus, I’m serious.”

Klaus stood there for a while, listening to his ragged breathing, basking in the temporary silence plaguing his mind as he contemplated Vanya’s question. Tears pricked his eyes, and he forced a laugh, the sound leaving his throat rough and harsh as he smirked slightly. He felt like shit. His body hurt. His heart hurt. And more than anything, he didn’t want to be here. But he didn’t want to be alone. That’s what made him weak. It’s what always made him weak. _I think I love you… I have enough faith for the both of us. Trust me, you got the wrong brother. No one will even know I’m gone._

Klaus shrugged, wiping some of the sweat trailing down his face on his shoulder. He sighed shakily, “I’m always fine, Vanya. Just starting to think that sobriety is a bit overrated.”

Vanya swallowed, letting her hand drop from her brother’s wrist as she nodded slowly, “Okay. Fine.”

Vanya stepped back, sighing loudly as she gave Klaus a small smile masking the hurt that had been there moments ago, and the older man swallowed the lump sitting in his throat as he watched her walk down the stairs. He pressed his back against the wall, sliding down the ‘how to kill’ posters as her hurt expression crossed his mind. He lied to her. And to make things worse, she knew. Klaus smacked his head against the wall, wincing loudly as the voices picked up again, screaming through the darkness as they threatened to pull him under, and tears fell from his lashes. He’d hurt his sister. But she had hurt him…

When Vanya had published her book, Diego, Luther and Allison had taken it as a personal attack. They became awkward around her, isolating her from events they normally would invite her to. They alienated her. But Klaus understood. And he tried hard to let her know he wasn’t mad at her… just hurt. Like the rest.  

The truth was, none of them were mad that she had published a book about them. They weren’t mad she had detailed being the outcast as a child, because in a sense, they understood what she had meant. But they were hurt. They were hurt she had published a book describing some things they wanted to keep secret; to keep to themselves; to stay behind closed doors. They were hurt she exposed to the world some of their deepest darkest secrets.

She had written about Five falling off the Academy roof when he as 11 because their father exhausted him too much, too quickly. The times Five had passed out during his lessons because he was pushed past his limits. She’d detailed the fake death of Allison as their father tried to bring the team together and teach them a lesson. She’d written about the time Diego had gotten his scar and how, after a rigorous training session, the 15-year-old had miscalculated his throw causing it to backfire. She’d detailed their band, the Paris tickets, and Diego’s crush on her when they were kids. She’d exposed Ben’s death, exposed the secret relationship between Allison and Luther, and exposed the time Luther had walked in on their father drowning Klaus as part of his lesson. She’d brought to light all times he’d been locked in the basement only to emerge a few days later, covered in blood and unable to eat, sleep or talk. She exposed the time he’d overdosed on OxyContin after Ben’s death, and how their father didn’t even bother showing up at the hospital. She showed the world the horrendous things that they fought so hard to keep from the rest of society, from each other, and from themselves. She had hurt them… unintentionally. But she had still hurt them. And somewhere along the lines, they had hurt her.

Klaus smacked his head against the wall again, letting out a soft cry as tears flooded his vision and Ben slid down next to him. This hurt, the hurt his siblings felt, the brokenness, the damaged f-word used to masquerade as a barely functional family, was going to kill him. It was going to eat away with the rest of the torment and darkness, swallow him whole as his world collapsed into a dusty pit of loneliness and abandonment. He had no one… he’d never had anyone. His father made sure of that. And the one person he loved more than drugs, more than alcohol, sex, parties, more than himself, died in front of him, pleading with him as Klaus prayed to a non-existent God to save him. _You’re weak… You could have saved him, but instead you let him die…_

The voices echoed around him, piercing through his brain and the older man winced, pressing his hands against his ears as he tried to block out the shouting rushing through his mind. He brought his knees to his chest, shaking violently as he tried to focus on Ben yelling his name, as he tried to keep up with the pounding against his chest, and he struggled to hold onto a life he didn’t want.

………………………………………………………………………………….

_There was so much blood. So much of it covering Klaus’s clothes, still etched under his skin, staining the flesh on his arms dark red, as he stared down at the cold body lying on the gray table. The others had left hours ago, but Klaus… Klaus couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. His body wasn’t functioning properly, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from him, away from his brother._

_He could still feel Ben’s grasp around his shoulders, his hand squeezing his tightly as Klaus struggled to hold him against his chest. He could hear the panic around him as Diego tried to drive faster, as Luther tried to stop the bleeding, as Allison tried calling their father, and as Ben cried, pleading, begging Klaus to not let him die. His nails weakly grasping Klaus’s shoulder as his brother held him tighter, as Ben’s grip loosened, as his begging stopped, and Klaus could still feel his brother’s heartbeat stop against his._

_Klaus pressed his hands against the metal table, swallowing against the nausea rising in his throat as panic clawed at his chest. He shook his head, tearing the mask from his face, letting it smack against the ground roughly as tears welled in his eyes. The 16-year-old grit his teeth, feeling his hands begin to ache, the blood on his arms burning against his skin, and the teenager let out a choked sob as he glanced towards his brother’s dead form. He didn’t want to die. He kept saying it over and over. He didn’t want to die. He wanted Klaus to save him… and Klaus had let him down._

_The 16-year-old leaned over the table, anger coursing through his body, and he clenched his fists, gritting his teeth as his power surged through him. Blue surrounded his hands and Klaus flinched, the burning, searing blue glow swallowing his hands, wrists, his arms; and Klaus pressed his fingers against his brother’s chest. The blue flame disappeared, and the teenager cursed, flinging his hands outward as he struggled to bring back the power he’d felt just a moment ago._

_He slammed his hands against the table, pressing his forehead against Ben’s chest as tears fell from his eyes. He grasped his brother’s cold hand in his, the tips of his fingers barely glowing now. He cleared his throat as he glanced towards his brother’s face, his chin resting against his chest, “Ben?”_

_Silence evaded them, filling the gaps with harsh reminders of broken promises and silent prayers. Klaus squeezed harder, “Benjamin?”_

_Ringing echoed in Klaus’s ears and he swallowed as Ben’s begging filled his mind. Ben’s blood. Ben’s hands wrapped around his shoulder, his fingernails digging into the flesh on Klaus’s left shoulder blade. And Ben’s heart still against Klaus’s beating one._

_Anger, hatred, disgust, and guilt flooded the teenager’s system, and Klaus shoved away from the table. He stood there for a moment, his eyes tracing over the blood staining his brother’s face, the blood on his clothes, and he turned, knocking against the desk chair next to the table. His heart pounded against his chest, panic rising in his throat, and he shoved the chair away forcefully, shoving the computer and papers from the glass desk, letting the stupid small table slam against the ground loudly, shattering into a million pieces as glass littered the floor._

_Klaus kicked at the blood-soaked towels scattering the ground as tears spilt down his face violently and sweat fell from his cheeks. He wasn’t breathing, he couldn’t be, his heart was forcing its way out of his chest, crawling from under his ribs as his lungs forewent any oxygen that he managed to gulp down. The cold room was hot, and he was abandoned, alone. He was a failure, and his brother knew it. They all knew it. He was useless._

_The 16-year-old screamed loudly, pulling the chunky computer from the floor, and he threw it towards the glass windows. The crash echoed through the small room, light filtered in through the broken glass and Klaus fell against the table, his arms and hands burning violently. And he glanced down at the blue flames eating away at sweaty flesh before dying out and disappearing completely._

_He let out a choked sob as he slid against the table, letting his body smack against the unforgiving ground. He forced his head in his hands as he glanced at the glass littering the floor, and Ben’s cries washed over him. He was gone. He didn’t want to die, but he was gone. And now? Now, Klaus had no one. He’d lost his best friend. He’d lost his anchor… and now, he was alone. He was alone because he had let him down. Because he was weak._

_Klaus cried loudly, letting his head fall against his knees. He deserved this. He deserved this hurt; this torment. Ben had counted on him… and Klaus had made him a promise when they were 8; a promise he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him; that he wouldn’t let him die… and yet…_

_Something smacked against his ankle harshly, and the 16-year-old looked up, tears flooding his vision momentarily before his green eyes connected with his father’s stern ones. Reginald shook his head as he glanced at the state of the room before smacking Klaus’s ankle again, “Get up, number Four!”_

_The teenager swallowed, biting his bottom lip, trying to stop it from trembling, trying to stop himself from crying as he wiped at the tears painting his face and forced himself to stand on legs that refused. Klaus pressed a hand against the table, looking down at his brother’s form again as he grasped at his stiff hand. There was so much blood._

_Klaus wiped at his face again, feeling the rough sleeve tear against his sweaty flesh as he let out a shaky sigh, trying to calm himself. He swallowed thickly, glancing down at the umbrella tattoo etched under his brother’s pale skin, his fingers running over the old ink slowly before his fingers fell from Ben’s hand. His grasp no longer comforting; his heart no longer beating._

_The teenager turned to leave, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from crying. Blood filled his mouth, and Klaus swallowed weakly as he felt someone grab his wrist. He turned back, surprise masking his tired features for a second as he glanced at his father’s hand wrapped warmly around his flesh. He felt tears swell in his eyes again as he met his father’s disappointed gaze. The older man sighed loudly before shaking his head, “It might have been Luther’s mistake, but you’re the reason Ben’s dead.”_  

_The 16-year-old froze. His breathing catching in his throat as he glanced once more towards his brother. Anger surged through his veins, mixing with the toxic blood beating in his heart, and he yanked his wrist from his father’s grasp, mumbling something under his breath as he made his way towards the door. The teenager stopped momentarily in the hall as his father smacked his cane against the ground and yelled, “Speak up, boy!”_

_Klaus turned slightly, his eyes locked onto Ben’s dead form, drinking in his brother’s forgotten features, soft smile, and sarcastic demeanor before meeting his father’s gaze one last time. The teenager let out a shaky breath, tears sliding down his cheeks as hatred flooded his eyes, “He was apart of this family. He was your son, so he was dead the minute he was born… We all were.”_

_……………………………………………………………………………………………_

They were arguing, yelling, fighting. About what, Klaus wasn’t sure. He wasn’t really sure about anything anymore. He wasn’t sure how he’d made it down the stairs. He was really sure how he’d impeded on this conversation, or what day or year it was. And he definitely wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

His body was killing slowly from the inside out, and the fact that every word uttered from his siblings felt like a fret train crashing in his head, wasn’t helping. He shivered violently as he pulled his knees to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible, trying to concentrate on the words yelled between his brothers, trying to grasp onto the reality slowly slipping past his trembling fingers. Sweat pooled from his chest, soaking his already wet shirt more, and Klaus gagged, leaning his head against the couch behind him as he swallowed back the bile threatening to flood his mouth.

“Can I just say something?” Allison interjected as Diego tried to size up to Luther. Diego shoved her away as Luther stepped forward and pressed a finger in his brother’s chest. Diego smacked it harshly, determination twisting on his lips as he shoved Luther back, “You wanna do this?”

Luther stumbled slightly before stepping forward, “Every damn day.”

Klaus shivered, running a shaky hand through his hair as he tried to recall the previous conversation. They were discussing Five… no, that wasn’t right. Mom? No, mom was dead. Vanya. They were discussing Vanya, they had to be discussing Vanya… but the reason why was unclear, fuzzy, forgotten.  

Klaus’s stomach churned and the older man leaned forward, pressing a hand against it weakly as sweat began to bead against his forehead. His skin was on fire, burning against the ache, tightening the itch crawling under his skin, and Klaus felt like utter shit. He didn’t remember his last detoxing being nearly as bad… but that had been several years ago, and he’d been much younger than he was now.  

He watched weakly as Diego lunged for Luther as Luther smacked him to the ground, and Allison tried tearing them apart. Klaus groaned loudly before glancing towards Ben leaning against the wall next to him. Ben peered up from his book before shaking his head, “Dude, this is embarrassing. Hey- Klaus? You don’t look so good, man. Seriously.”

Klaus swallowed again, turning back towards the pitiful fight still covering the living room floor. His vision wavered harshly, twisting and contorting into blurry pictures, and he blinked, gripping the armrest as he waited for it to pass. He shivered, sucking in a shallow, shaky breath as his heart skipped a beat and sweat fell from his face. Normally, he’d be refereeing, cheering on the violence as Allison and Vanya tried tearing them apart. But now? Right now, all Klaus wanted to do was curl up in a dark quiet hole somewhere and die. That is, if the voices didn’t get to him first, if the spirits didn’t haunt him first… _Are you still afraid of them? Such a weak-willed mind; no wonder you turned to drugs! You’re a disappointment, a disgrace, useless…_  

“Hey, here’s a wild thought,” Klaus yelled, pushing his body from the couch and swaying slightly as he pressed a hand against the armrest, “Why don’t we just ask her?”

His siblings froze, all momentarily aware that their brother was still here, still watching them, and Diego scoffed. Klaus grimaced as his stomach lurched, and his skin burned against the rough fabric eating away at his fingertips. He blinked slightly as the voices started, whispering his name, calling for him, and the older man cleared his throat.

He felt weak. His legs felt uneasy and the world around him was hot, heavy, and hard to breathe. He coughed softly, letting his fingers fall from the armrest as he pressed his hand harder against his stomach and took a tentative step towards his siblings. His breathing was ragged, uneven and sporadic; and Klaus was pretty sure he was on the verge of having a heart attack all at the young age of 29. He couldn’t breathe. He was drowning. Drowning in his own darkness and his siblings were fighting like they were kids _…You got the wrong brother; no one in that house will even notice I’m gone…_  

Klaus stumbled, his body knocking against the table beside him and a vase fell to the floor loudly. The older man watched it break into several large pieces, his hands shaking violently as he struggled to grip onto the stupid wooden table, to keep himself upright as his eyes met the little girl from earlier. Blood flooding from her mouth as she pointed towards Klaus, forcing him to clench his eyes shut, forcing him to bite the inside of his cheek, swallowing down the blood drowning his mouth. He felt useless, sick, wrong, off, abandoned…

_…Dave’s lips trailed down his neck, pressing against the small scars on his shoulder blade gently as Klaus turned, pulling the younger man’s mouth to his. He pressed his hand against Dave’s chest, letting his fingers hover over the warm strong heartbeat pounding against his ribs as the other man’s fingers trailed up Klaus’s arm…_

The necklace sitting around his throat tightened, and Klaus brushed his fingers over the gold chain, shivering as cold air pricked his overheated skin. Fingers brushed against his shoulder and the older man flinched, prying his eyes open to a lonely reality, shoving away from the hand that tried reaching for him again. He cleared his throat, trying to concentrate on the living room, on the words tossed around him, on anything besides the weigh hanging around his neck like a noose.

The floor moved violently, and Klaus because painfully aware that walking like everything was fine, trying to pretend that he was even semi-okay, was not in his favor. His knees trembled again, and Klaus pushed away from Allison’s grasp as she tried reaching for him. He needed to leave… before the memories hit him, before the pain got worse, before they knew… before they saw what it was like, before they saw what it was like being him.

Klaus turned slightly, sucking in an airless breath, his eyes meeting his siblings as they all simultaneously inched closer, confused worry painting their expressions. Luther reached a hand towards him, and the older man stumbled back, his hand catching on the bar stool and Klaus balanced himself on shaky legs as Luther squeezed his shoulder gently.

“You’re bleeding,” Luther said gently, pushing his hand harder against Klaus’s shoulder. Confusion crossed the older man’s face as he brought his hand to his nose, pulling it back to reveal dark crimson trailing lazily down his hand. He swallowed, “Yeah, because of all your yelling.”

He shoved away from his brother, taking another step forward, wincing slightly as the voices came back, this time full force. He pressed an ear against his shoulder as he tried to ignore them, as he tried to block them out. He felt weak. Dizzy. Sick. And his heart was pounding to a beat he couldn’t breathe. Something leaked from his ears, and Klaus pressed his fingertips to them, pulling back, revealing dark red covering them. Revealing the blood covering his hands.

“Klaus, man, this isn’t normal,” Ben yelled, and Klaus turned slightly, to tell his brother to go jump off a bridge, as the ringing in his ears pierced his eardrums and he winced loudly. He lurched, his stomach expelling anything it could find, expelling the foul-tasting saliva drowning the back of his throat, the rough stomach lining threatening to tear him apart, and blood. Bloody saliva dripped from his mouth, mixing with the blood pooling from his nose as he dropped to his knees, shoving a hand against his left ear as he heard his siblings faintly yelling his name.

He let out a strangled cry as the voices around him grew louder and his eyes connected with the bloody forms of people he didn’t know. The girl who’d been hiding in the corner several minutes ago, kneeling in front of him, blood still dripping past her lips as she laughed, reaching a small hand towards him. And Klaus shut his eyes.

The floor beneath him twisted violently, and he doubled over, pressing his sweaty forehead against the ground forcefully. Screaming pierced his ears, matching faces to dark figures that reached through his darkness, and Klaus screamed. Pain gripped him; encasing his head as memories hit, voices exploding around him, and the thin gate he’d built on dampened self-medicating and stupid ignorance, broke, flooding his mind with images of tortured souls waiting to haunt him.  

His heartbeat hurt, the air sucked into weak lungs hurt, and Klaus pressed his head harder against the ground, feeling blood dripping down his chin, down his neck. His fingernails digging into the hot flesh on his stomach as he tried to keep from drowning. As he tried to focus on the pain and nausea eating away at his body. But there was nothing. He had nothing left. No energy. No will. He was done. Alone. And no one was going to save him… no one could. He was the reject of failure and disgrace stunted by fretful, morbid temperament. An unlovable thing. And he was going to die how he lived, alone and lonely with no one to truly notice he was gone. How pathetic was that?   

Hot tears flooded down his face, drowning the world around him in an aching hell as his body trembled violently. Klaus’s body gave out, his grip loosing around his stomach, and he fell the rest of the way to the floor, his sweaty cheek pressed against the ground weakly. Blood still dripping from his mouth as he coughed roughly, trying to force himself to live when all his body wanted to do was die; Crimson running in dark rivers down his nose and pooling in his ear as he curled in on himself. He opened an eye carefully, pulling both hands to his ears as his eyes connected with the girl, her hand still stretched towards him. Voices screaming around him, through him, at him, and he forced a hand from his ear as he reached towards the girl, crying loudly as his vision shifted, morphed and the girl contorted into him… into Dave.

Soft fingers gripped his and Klaus smiled weakly, gripping tightly as Dave pulled him close, pressing his hand against his lips. The older man coughed roughly, his body no longer accepting oxygen, and his mind shut down. Klaus closed his eyes, letting his last image be the soft blue eyes he’d fallen in love with, as his darkness killed his senses, and he was felt the world around him die, fade, slip through his trembling fingers. He felt numb, cold, weak. He was weak, he was useless, his father had made that very clear… and now, he’d proved him right. He felt small. Childish. Lonely and forgotten… and then, he felt his heart stop.  

………………………………………………………………………………..

_Klaus turned, looking around as the world he’d known disappeared and he found himself standing on an old dirt road. He ran a hand through his hair, stopping momentarily as he noticed he felt better. He felt free. The sweat that had covered his body moments ago vanished, his headache vanished, and the nausea that was sitting heavily in his stomach had vanished… or maybe he had._

_He took a few steps, looking around, letting his hand fall down his face slowly, stopping briefly at his mouth before he pulled his hand back to find no blood. Nothing. Everything was gone. He swallowed nervously, glancing up the road as the little girl he’d seen earlier headed towards him, the blood gone from her body completely, and he breathed a sigh of relief as she stopped in front of him. Her red bike standing out against the black and white world surrounding them._

_“Uh, where am I?” Klaus asked, running a hand over the back of his head as he put the other on his hip. The girl rolled her eyes, giving him a frustrated look, “You’re dead, stupid,”_

_"Ah, okay, cool,” Klaus whispered, looking around, trying to figure out where to go from here. The girl groaned, fixing the bracelets on her arm, “No, not cool because you’re stuck here.”_

_"Okay,” Klaus said cautiously, “Well… shouldn’t a spirit guide appear, and you know, guide me towards my afterlife or whatever.”_

_He waved his hands towards the trees, expecting a big poof and some wizardry guy to appear and point him in the path he should follow. The girl shook her head, “Not for you. You’ve been rejected by Heaven and Hell. No one wants you. You’re stuck here, dumbass... Besides, he wants to see you.”_

_She raised a hand and Klaus followed her gaze towards an abandoned building at the end of the lot. Chills washed over him, dread weighing heavily in the pit of his stomach and the necklace laying loosely against his throat, tightened slightly. He glanced back towards the girl, “Dave?”_

_She shrugged, putting her hands on the bike’s handle bars, kicking at the stopper before pushing off, “I don’t know, and I don’t care.”_

_Klaus ran a shaky hand through his hair as he glanced down at his attire. He was still wearing the stupid clothes he’d died in but at least there wasn’t any blood, sweat or vomit… so that had to be a bonus. Thoughts raced through his mind as he crossed his arms over his chest protectively and made his way slowly towards the building._

_He paused in front of the door, letting his fingers hover over the metal handle, his heart pounding in his chest as excitement bubbled to the surface. A smile broke out over his face as he pulled the door open and stepped inside. Black and white checkered tile greeted him, along with the inner workings of an antique barbershop._

_Klaus turned to leave only to find the door had disappeared, and he sighed, running a hand through his hair as he glanced back towards the empty chairs. He swallowed slowly, “Dave?”_

_The backdoor chimed and a record dropped into the slot on a jukebox sitting in the corner of the shop, filling the eerie place with some soft melody Klaus had never heard before. He shivered, pushing his feet forward as he forced his body to move towards an empty chair, sitting down slowly, leaning back in the chair as he tried to think of who he was supposed to meet. And why the fuck he was here._

_A white drape wrapped around his neck gently, and Klaus jumped, sitting up momentarily as his eyes locked with the stern cold ones of his father. He swallowed loudly as Reginald tapped his shoulder, forcing him to lean back, and something white, powdery and cold painted his face. He twitched his nose, resisting the urge to scratch as the shaving cream tickled his nose and confusion crossed his features._

_"I expected more of you, my boy,” His father said softly, raising his glasses slightly to inspect the area covered on his son’s face. Klaus shook his head, “Yeah, sorry, I must have missed that past the lessons and constant reminder that I was a worthless, drugged-up disappointment.”_

_“You are a disappointment, that is true,” Reginald paused momentarily before reaching for the razor sitting behind him, “You all were. But I still expected more from you. I expected you to have figured out how to resurrect at least one person by now.”_

_Klaus scoffed, stilling as he felt the thin slice of a blade graze up his cheek carefully. He shivered, the song on the jukebox ended, and silence hung over them in heavy waves. After a while, his father cleared his throat, “You never asked me how I knew you could resurrect.”_

_Klaus rolled his eyes, “Okay, I’ll bite. How?”_

_His father stayed silent for a second, dipping the sharp blade in alcohol before returning to his son, “Don’t be a wiseass, boy. I knew, because you’ve done it before. In Paris, when you saved Ben. That had been the first time. When you were 8.”_

_“The first time for what exactly?”_

_“Wise up, number Four! Do you honestly think this is the first time you’ve died? The first time we’ve talked? No,” His father scoffed, throwing the razor down on the table behind him and dipping his hands in alcohol as Klaus wiped the remaining shaving cream from his face. He flinched slightly as his father appeared in his vision again, pressing his wet hands against his cheeks and the smell of alcohol filled the younger man’s nostrils; a slight burn hitting the hairless skin. Reginald cleared his throat, “You’ve died many times. The first time in Paris, the second when you overdosed when you were 16, the second overdose at 23, the third at 28, with Cha-Cha and Hazel, in Vietnam, and now. But you’ve always managed to revive yourself… And you haven’t even begun to unearth nearly half of your powers, Klaus.”_

_Klaus stopped, his eyes suddenly meeting his father’s as confusion crossed his face. His father had never addressed him by his given name before. He’d always called them by their numbers, every time…_

_“And I’ll be damned to let you think your job is done. Now, that’s better. You look less like a druggie, and more like my son,” Reginald said, ripping the drape from Klaus’s neck as the younger man sat up slowly. Half of the barbershop had disappeared and instead was replaced by tall gray grass, shady trees, and dull sunshine._

_Klaus turned back towards his father, only to find the bastard had disappeared. He took a step forward, sliding from the chair and turning slightly as he tried to figure out what to do, where to go. He swallowed slowly, “Dad?”_

_“Klaus?”_

_Klaus froze. His breathing hitched slightly, and he closed his eyes as he forced his feet to turn, as he forced his body towards the direction of the voice, his voice. He opened his eyes slowly, tears swelling in his eyes as he stared up at Dave standing in front of him. The older man opened his mouth to speak before closing it, realizing he had no words and too much to say…_

_“I know,” Dave nodded slowly, pressing his hand against Klaus’s cheek, letting his fingers dust over his jaw, pulling his chin upward as he pressed his lips against his, and Klaus choked. He’d missed this. Missed him. He’d missed him so fucking much he was willing to do anything to get him back._

_“We don’t have much time,” Dave whispered, his fingers trailing down Klaus’s neck gently, stopping over his heart. Klaus shook his head, “I don’t want to go back. I can’t.”_

_Dave nodded, swallowing thickly as he pressed his lips against Klaus’s forehead, “You have to.”_

_The older man felt tears trail down his cheeks as he grasped Dave’s hand tightly in his, “I can’t go back. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t keep living for the damage. I don’t know how.”_

_The younger man laughed softly, brushing his fingers over the necklace hanging around Klaus’s neck, “You have to have faith.”_

_Klaus gripped his boyfriend’s hand harder, his fingers trembling weakly as he tried to hang onto whatever this was. As he tried to concentrate on him, on Dave. He choked softly as Dave pulled him closer, “I don’t.”_

_Dave let out another laugh, running his hands up Klaus’s arms gently before cupping his face and forcing the older man to look at him. A sad smile broke out over his face, tears welling in his own eyes and he pressed his forehead against Klaus’s, breathing in his familiar scent as the world around them began to fade into dark. As it began to fade into Klaus’s darkness._

_“That’s okay. I have enough faith for the both of us.”_

Diego sat there, pressing his hands to the bottom of his chin as he peered towards his brother, sprawled out on the bed, his body pale, unmoving, gone. He ran a hand through his hair as he watched Klaus’s chest, biting his bottom lip as he waited, hoped, prayed that the stupid junkie would start breathing again… that he’d come back. Diego hadn’t known his brother would die; he knew he was detoxing, and it was hard… but when he started puking blood, when he started screaming, he hadn’t known that was the last chance he would have had to help his brother.

When they were kids, Klaus used to be Diego’s wingman, and he’d be able to con mom into anything. He'd ask questions Diego had been too afraid to ask in fear that he’d mispronounce a word or stutter. And after Ben died, the kid had changed. He wasn’t the fun psycho he used to be… he was different, broken, more interested in the high than his family. But maybe that had something more to do with their father.

Their father had taken them all, and morphed them into tools of insecurities and beautiful disasters… but Klaus? Their father had hurt him the most. He’d taken a sweet boy, so full of hope and life, and twisted, crushed and changed him into a broken thing. He had made Klaus afraid of himself… tormented and haunted by his past, and damaged by unlovable fear.

Diego had tried to help. He’d tried every time he wiped blood from his brother’s face when he stumbled into the bathroom after spending several long and unnoticed days in the basement. He tried when Klaus spent the whole month after he’d overdosed, unable to sleep and plagued by nightmares, calling out for Ben in his sleep. He’d been there when they were younger and Luther had shoved their father from Klaus’s wet and barely breathing form, as the boy was submerged underwater until he stopped breathing. Or when Klaus had shown up at his apartment when he was 25, shivering from the rain that fell from the sky, paranoid out of his mind as the drugs wore off and he needed to talk. And Diego had been there when they were 15, when Klaus had come back from one of his lessons and collapsed on the kitchen floor, bloody dirt sliding down his face, mixing with the tears that fell from his eyes as he cried loudly. Diego had been there… or, at least he tried to be.

But now, when Klaus needed him most, when he needed someone to watch over him, to help him through whatever shit was trying to expel from his body, Diego had let him down. Klaus had always been there- even if he was half out of his mind on drugs or alcohol, he’d always been there when it counted. Fuck, Diego hadn’t even noticed when Cha-Cha and Hazel had taken him, tortured him, hurt him- for days. No one noticed. And to make matters worse, Klaus had come back different. He had come back like he lived a different life. 

Diego sighed, running another hand through his hair before grabbing his knifes sitting on the nightstand next to him. He paused, letting his fingers hover over the umbrella tattoo on his brother’s wrist; his eyes tracing over the scars on his brother’s body- ones he recognized and other’s he didn’t. He pressed his fingers against his brother’s hand, gripping it tightly for a second before letting his hand fall to his side. At least in death, Klaus could finally rest.

Diego swallowed, wiping at the tears slipping from his eyes before turning towards the door. He sighed again, griping the knife in his hand as he pressed the other into the wooden doorframe. He cleared his throat, “Goodbye, Klaus.”

Klaus jolted up, gasping loudly as he pressed a hand against his aching chest, and something silver sild past his face, plunking into the wood beside him. Sweat trailed down his face as Klaus’s eyes widened and he hunched over, gasping loudly as his lungs struggled to suck down deprived oxygen, as his heart beat strongly against his chest. He turned slightly, giving Ben a quick thumbs up before looking towards the knife sticking out of the wall besides him. He grunted slightly as he pulled the sharp object from the wood, coughing loudly as he turned towards Diego standing at the doorway, horrified shock plaster to his brother’s features.

Diego inched closer, confusion shining in his eyes as he paused, “What… the hell?”

Klaus coughed again, swinging his legs around until his feet touched the floor. He glanced back down at the knife, his hand still pressed firmly against his chest before throwing the knife on the ground and looking back up at Diego. He sucked in a deep breath, “Christ on a cracker, Diego! Did you just throw a knife at me? I could have died!”

Diego stepped further into the room, his eyes asking questions his lips couldn’t form, “You- you were already dead!”

“Yeah,” Klaus said, pushing himself to his feet slowly, dropping his hand from his chest and pressing it on his hip, “Well, I could have died… more.”

Ben snorted, and Klaus turned to see the 16-year-old shaking his head, “Not your best argument, bro.”

Klaus hissed at him before coughing again, and Diego took a step closer. Diego inspected his brother curiously before grabbing his shoulder and pulling him into a hug. Klaus stood there awkwardly, his hands at his side as his heart continued to pound against his ribs, and he patted his brother’s back gently. It’d been a long time since Diego had hugged him…

The door creaked open slightly as Allison peered in. She paused before the door flew open and she screamed loudly, Luther barreling in behind her, and Klaus nearly toppled backwards as his siblings bombarded him with foreign hugs. The older man coughed again, the air he was trying to force down his lungs, squeezed from him as three pairs of arms pulled him in. Klaus looked towards Ben, sitting on his desk, a small smirk twisting at his lips, “Welcome back, idiot.”

Klaus blinked several times, patting his sister’s and brother’s arms slightly as they let go, and Klaus took a deep breath. Luther shoved him carefully, “We thought you were dead.”

Klaus’s eyebrows furrowed and he scoffed, “Me? Please. I once did seven hits of Acid at a Britney Spears concert while wearing nothing but a scarf and a top hat. It was insane… Nothing can kill me.”

Allison laughed softly, “Well, it’s good to have you back. Even if you steal all my eyeliner.”

The older man grinned, running a hand through his hair as he sat on his childhood bed. He felt weird with all three of his siblings watching him. Awkward. Vulnerable. Luther cleared his throat before clapping his hands together and nudging Allison on the arm, “We should probably call Vanya back. Let her know that the Grim Reaper lived… and we need to figure out what happened to Five.”

Klaus swallowed slowly as Luther and Allison walked out of the room. Diego picked up his knife from the floor, putting them both in his pocket and turned towards the door before pausing. He turned around slightly, his eyes meeting his brother’s before sitting back down in the wooden chair, leaning back cautiously.

“How’d you do it?”   

Klaus raised an eyebrow, pulling the black jacket someone had changed him into closer, “What? The seven hits of Acid?”

“No,” Diego shook his head as Klaus leaned forward, “You were dead, Klaus. And not just a momentarily lapse in breathing dead. But dead, dead. Your heart stopped… and you were gone for hours, bro.”

_…I have faith."_

_Faith. The complex word sat heavily on the older man’s lips, foreign, alienated and sour. Klaus had never had much faith in anything, and the concept of God was lost in his household long ago. Fingers trailed up his naked back slightly, and Klaus shivered as he turned back towards Dave, “I don’t.”_

_His boyfriend laughed softly, pulling the older man closer, pressing his lips on his forehead gently. Klaus swallowed as Dave sighed, “No. I guess someone with your abilities wouldn’t have much faith in anything, huh?”_

_Dave paused before moving slightly, shoving the covers off gently before sitting up and Klaus followed his movement. The younger man unclasped the necklace from his neck, thumbing over the old antique passed down from his mother before she died, and smiled as he leaned forward, hooking the gold Star of David around Klaus’s neck gently. He let his fingers trace down the chain, thumbing over the small star before pressing his hand against Klaus’s heart, “Something to remember me by… in case. It’s very old, fragile but strong. It’s brought me a lot of luck, hope… faith. Much like love. Much like you. I want you to have a piece of me with you… to have my faith with you, always. Because I love you. I will always love you. No matter what you see or what haunts you; no matter where you come from; no matter how much darkness you let filter through your light- I will still love you, and I will still be there. And you say you don’t have much faith… in anything. And that’s okay. Because I have enough faith for the both of us…_

“Klaus?”

The older man glanced up, realizing tears were sitting in his eyes, and his fingers were pressed around the small star hanging loosely over his heart. He sucked in small breath as his eyes met Diego’s, and his brother reached a slow hand towards him. Klaus opened his mouth to speak before closing it and shrugging his shoulders gently.

Diego leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees “Why detox? I mean, the end of the world and you suddenly decide you wanna get clean? I thought you’d wanna pop every pill on the planet.”

Klaus snort slightly as he let his fingers drop from the necklace, looking towards Ben as the teenager shook his head before turning back towards Diego. He sighed, “Oh, the thought did cross my mind… but, there was something I needed to do, and the pesky thing doesn’t seem to work unless I’m sober, so…”

The younger man was silent for a moment. The past days running through his mind. He was always willing to help his brother get clean, to get sober… but the world ended in three days, so it all seemed kind of pointless now. And after everything he went through, after he died, or whatever it was that had happened, why would his brother torture himself? Diego cleared his throat, “Did it have something to do with conjuring the one you lost?”

His eyes met Klaus’s, biting his bottom lip gently as his brother nodded. Diego reached a hand out, putting it on top of Klaus’s shaking one gently, “Yeah? What was her name?”

Klaus paused. His body relaxed slightly, and Ben moved in the corner of his eye, moving closer to the bed. Tears fell from Klaus’s eyes as he stared into the open area of his bedroom, memories washing through him in a beautiful torment, and Klaus sighed loudly, “His name was Dave...  

 

           

 

           

 

 

 


End file.
